Empire Heart
by nightflutterheart
Summary: Even the King's most faithful subject might grow unreliable as her feelings for the Red Rider become increasingly unavoidable. Murtagh is conflicted between the Varden and Empire. But when the green egg goes missing, if it's not the Varden nor the Empire, than who is it destined for? Love comes in many forms, and it can prove to be a weakness or a strength.OCxMxN ExAcannon ratedT/M
1. Prologue

**Hello all and welcome to a snippet of an upcoming story! This won't give too much away, as the rest of the story is based around not only Alea but the people around her and the difficult choices that stem as consequences from the man she loves and the loyalty to her king. **

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

She took in deep breaths, attempting to steady her hammering heart. Perhaps today would be the day. She glanced at her surroundings once more, but they did little to hold her interest. The walls of gold and silver held small brilliance in comparison to the gem before her. An enormous emerald, it outshone the room.

A single dragon egg, the last in all of Alagaësia.

The chamber was protected only by a single, special spell. It sat only on a plush red cushion, and even the entrance to the chamber was free of magic. Because no one could ever hope to stand where she stood, could hope to reach out and touch the dragon egg as she could. Not when this room was nestled away in the heart of King Galbatorix's castle.

Another breath, this time deeper. Determined, she reached forward, grasping the egg into her hands. She gasped when she thought she felt a shudder. But time passed, and the egg did not move again. The silence was broken when an elvish curse escaped her lips as she replaced the egg upon its cushion.

"Crima!" she cursed, whipping around and stalking angrily out of the room, purple robes billowing. She strode out of the room, the tall bronze double doors swinging shut behind her.

"Tried again, have you?" her eyes snapped up to meet the gaze of a tall, dark haired man.

"Do not test me, Rider," She snapped.

"My apologies," answered Murtagh, holding his hands up in peace. His tone didn't match his gesture, however. "Your presence has been requested, Lady Alea." he said with a slight bow. She only found it mocking, just as it was meant to be.

"Very well," She said, turning to go the opposite way.

"Alea—"

"Leave me be, Murtagh," she called over her shoulder. Alea heard him walk away without another word. No matter how much she wished he follow her, pester her to speak her mind, she knew he would not. Not ever. Her thoughts turned to the Varden leader, and her blood boiled in her veins. She had never set eyes upon her, but rumor of the rebel leader's beauty had, somehow, found its way even to Uru'Baen, and had learned from Murtagh himself that the rumors had cause behind them. The jealousy burning in her veins was enough to even offset her nerves in meeting with her King.


	2. Chapter 1: The Rusty Axe

_**.**_

* * *

_**Chapter I: The Rusty Axe**_

_Galbatorix's Castle, Uru'Baen_

* * *

Alea held her back straight and her chin high as she strode into the throne room. The floor-to-ceiling, dusky gold doors shut behind her with a loud, intimidating _thud. _Her feet sank into the plush red carpet that led directly to the throne room. The gold and gemstone-ridden throne was beautifully ornate, catching the light of the tall torches that were lit on either side of it's arms and making it shine. But what caught and held her attention was the man sat in it. He was a handsome man with black hair that brushed the top of his shoulders. His face was tan, and he watched her through startlingly black eyes, eyes like coal. As she reached the steps before the throne, Alea picked up the hem of her amethyst gown as she knelt in a deep curtsey.

My Lord King," she greeted, eyes daring to lift to meet those of King Galbatorix. "How is it that I may serve you?"

"Rise, child," The King instructed. His voice was smooth and compelling, reminding its listener of the power he wielded. He studied her face for a moment before he spoke.

"What is it that troubles you, child?"

Though she wanted nothing more than to cringe at the question, she also knew that she could not lie, not to him. So she sought against the urge and attempted to answer as vaguely as possible.

"Nothing that requires my Lordship's concern. I fair as well as I did yesterday, and as well as I did the day before," Alea answered with a serene smile. The King chuckled.

"Even you cannot lie to me, Alea," he told her. "It is a matter of the heart that bothers you, is it?" Galbatorix asked. Alea suppressed a shiver. She knew that he had but brushed her consciousness only lightly with his own, and that he would not delve into her mind as was his ability. He always preferred when others were made to speak that which he could easily take from their minds. It had always been a favorite game of his, to watch his prey squirm before the inevitable, before he won.

"It is a small matter, a matter I do not wish to trouble my King with," Alea said, fighting to keep her voice steady and the color of her neck and cheeks from blooming red from embarrassment. Any sign of weakness would not go unnoticed.

"A matter that concerns my rider, Murtagh." It wasn't a question. He knew. Alea closed her eyes fora moment. He knew, and he expected an answer.

"H-He will not have me, my Lord." Alea admitted. "But pease, my Lord, I am certain I was not called upon for such a trivial discussion." She said rather boldly. She chanced to meet his gaze again, but once more his expression turned thoughtful.

"You are correct. There is the matter of your namesake day," he said, and Alea dipped her head, hoping the relief wouldn't show across her features.

"I understand, my Lord. We are at war and I do not expect such a celebration as I've experienced in the past—"

"Nonsense," Galbatorix's words sliced through hers easily. "I enjoy a good birthday celebration. Don't you?" He laughed deeply, and Alea managed to keep a polite smile on her lips. She knew he was goading her, but did not rise to the bait.

"Of course, my Lord."

"Then I see no reason to postpone such a celebration. You are still young, and you have many years before you. I believe your twentieth celebration should be marked by something…special." Alea curtsied once more.

"You are too kind, my Lord. There is no one more grateful than I," she answered. Pleased, Galbatorix reached for the gold platter of fruit on a pedestal adjacent to his throne. He chose a piece of fruit and chewed on it carefully.

"Then I shall see you in a few nights time. And Alea," Galbatorix called as she turned to leave. "See to it that you do something about Murtagh. Whether you wish to claim him or not, I shall not fight your battles for you, and a child's pouts and tears are most unbecoming upon a young lady such as yourself." Alea's jaw tightened at the jab, and this time she could not hold back the flaming in her cheeks of embarrassment.

"I shall, my Lord."

* * *

The next two days at the castle were abuzz with preparations for the King's ward's birthday celebration. There was no woman of greater importance in Uru-Baen, no one who was tended to more carefully than she. The noblewomen envied her, and entertainers across the Empire were arriving for her party. And yet, despite the attention she so dearly loved and craved, she felt unhappy.

"Are you excited for you birthday, Milady?" Melina, her handmaiden asked. "It'll be a grand celebration, the grandest yet! Matron Ulma has made certain of it." said Melina as she filled the bathing basin with hot water. Alea, not bothering to even glance at the young woman across her room, dropped her thin white underdress to the ground where the fabric pooled at her feet. She studied her naked reflection in the tall mirror standing tall before her. _What is it that Murtagh finds unattractive? I was shaped to have a pleasing form._ Alea thought to herself. She toyed with the idea that perhaps she was too well defined—a consequence of training—and therefore her waist was not narrow as the other ladies of the castle. Could that be it? Her cheekbones were rather sharp-she'd once thought they made her look queenly, aristocratic, but perhaps they were too sharp.

"I'm worried, more like," Alea admitted with a sigh, twisting around so that she could see her back. One blemish on her body, and it was one she was proud to have: black ink beneath her skin claiming her as one of House Galbatorix, and she had to keep it hidden. Leaving the mirror and crossing over to the hot water basin, she said to Melina, "It was before your time, but for my thirteenth birthday I was made to wrestle a tiger."

Melina gasped as she helped Alea into the near scalding bathwater.

"How did you fare, Milady?" she asked, and Alea toyed with a moist lock of her raven hair before answering.

"I did as I was told. But before I could suffocate it, the King stopped me. He declared me victorious in my Challenge, and I was allowed to participate in the great feast that followed. Tigers were my favorite, and so he allowed me to keep that one. He encouraged me to train it, to tame it," she remembered with a fond smile. "It was a beautiful animal. Have you ever seen a tiger, Melina?" she asked. Melina shook her head ruefully.

"No, Milady. We don't get many of those in Teirm," she jested.

"No, of course not. Tigers…tigers are like snakes. Beautiful and deadly. They are predators, powerful…fur that ripples red and orange and yellow, eyes like liquid gold. But what many don't know is that they make good companions, some of the very best, if you can assure they not attack you and chew on your bones. But before they can make good companions, you have to teach them. I didn't know anything about training an animal, much less a tiger. All I was given was a whip. If it weren't for magic I'd still have the scars. Still, I came to love that tiger dearly. Rageera, was her name." her voice faded as it was lost to her old memories.

"What happened to Rageera, Milady?" Melina asked as she began combing through her hair. Alea blinked twice, eyes refocusing on the present.

"It became my fourteenth Challenge. Only this time, I was made to kill the animal I so dearly loved. The lessons our King teaches are harsh, but they are true," she said. She had been tested, every year since birth by the King. And each year she had passed, allowing her to remain in his grace. She couldn't argue against the Challenges; the King had given her the best opportunities to learn what no other woman learned: magic, swordsmanship, art, history, everything he gave to her, and these Challenges assured him that she wasn't taking his good will in vain. But this would be her twentieth Challenge, the Challenge that would determine whether or not she was ready to take a greater role under his name. And so with so much at stake she feared failure now more than ever. Her thoughts again shifted to the Red Rider, and even with the usual bout of annoyance that accompanied the mere thought of him, she felt a surge of desire pool in her stomach. She suddenly wished Melina would leave the room. But she shook away the thoughts, knowing that she could not be distracted, not now. And yet, Murtagh might know...

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Milady?" Melina asked.

"No—yes. Instruct Murtagh to be ready in an hour. I wish to go into the city," Alea ordered. Melina's chocolate eyes widened in alarm.

"Please, Milady, I cannot command Lord Murtagh—"

"He is not a Lord but a Dragon Rider. Address him as such and as nothing more. You are commanding nothing, I am, and me he cannot deny," Alea said, her tone preventing further argument. Melina curtsied.

"Yes Milady,"

* * *

Alea wrapped her velvety midnight blue coat about herself and left her chambers. She was surprised to see Murtagh standing outside, as she had expected he would have kept her waiting merely out of spite. Even so, she maintained her composure. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He wore his usual haughty expression, and his eyes only tightened when he saw her. Yet he was as handsome as ever in his all black attire to her, a fact she struggled to ignore.

"Milady," he greeted, and Alea knew from his tone that he was not pleased with her. It was faux in it's politeness.

"Murtagh," She replied. She wasn't as vain a woman as she thought she and the right to be, but it irked her thoroughly that of those that lusted after her looks he wasn't one of them. To the only one who mattered, she was nothing. She knew what attitude to expect from him once her offered his arm. The more gracious in his treatment of her he was, the more irritated she grew at his false antics. Something he knew well. Biting back a retort, she took his arm, and steered him towards the castle grounds. The sun had settled far in the east, leaving the world wrapped in a cloak of darkness. The cold evening air nipped at both their cheeks, tinging them pink.

"Was there a reason my you summoned me, Lady Alea?" he asked as they strolled through the grounds. The few torches lit provided them with just enough light to see each other's faces, and she wondered if that was a hint of curiosity she spied in his eyes.

"Perhaps." She told him. "But I don't reveal it here,"

"Then where?"

"In the city, of course," she answered as they reached the tall wall that separated the courtyard from the street beyond. Murtagh grimaced.

"You know the King has ordered me to remain inside the castle." he told her. She cocked her head to the side as she studied him, and then whispered a word in the Ancient Language. She was levitated on top of the wall where she sat, legs crossed at the ankles where they dangled before him.

"Oh, but think about how furious he would become upon learning that you, the Red Rider, allowed poor, helpless Lady Alea alone into the city. I would hate to have to face him if his precious ward were not to be found in the castle before first light." she said innocently. His grimace deepened into a scowl of disdain.

"You're a lot of things, Alea, but helpless is not one of them." he growled. Alea shrugged.

"And yet accidents _do_ happen…What if I were to fall?" Alea asked, leaning back dangerously. Murtagh started forward, but she only laughed, catching herself at the last possibly second. Murtagh was reminded of how often Alea liked to play that game when they were younger. Only then neither of them had had magic to heal wounds or prevent the other from falling, and the consequences could have been severe. They nearly had, on more than one occasion. And yet, even now, Alea had managed to turn their childhood game into something that could have dire repercussions for him.

"Alea, do not do this," Murtagh warned. "I will not be punished for your actions." Alea considered him for a moment.

"See, the way I would choose to view the course of the next few events—if I were in your position—I would choose to think to myself: The King may very well have ordered me to remain inside the castle, and yet so long ago he also ordered me to protect the Lady Alea…" Alea told him. "But that is only my reasoning," she said with another shrug and grin.

"Alea—" Murtagh began, but it was too late; Alea had already pushed herself backwards from the wall, falling head first. Murtagh cursed, easily scaling the wall and landing on the other side. But Alea had already taken off, running up the cobbled street, midnight cloak streaming behind her. He followed after her until she disappeared into a still busy street. Murtagh ducked his head and pulled his hood low over his face, not wanting to be recognized. He lost her in the crowd, and yet he could feel her consciousness, a thread she left unwound for him to follow.

_Alea, this is not a game._

_Sure it is, Murtagh. I hide, you seek. Is this not what we played when we were children?_ She asked him. Her playfulness irritated him to no end.

_Perhaps. But we were children then. _

_Are we still not children now? You are only two-and-twenty. What is that in comparison to the long life you'll live? So you are still a child,_ She reasoned.

_Only if you're not the death of me before then. Alea, where are you going? This is not a good part of the city, and misfortune is the young woman who wanders here alone at night,_ he added once he saw the tavern she was entering through her mind.

_Then fortune is the noble rider who will come save me. _And then she shut her mind to him, leaving him confronted with an impenetrable fortress.

_Unfortunately for you, _thought Murtagh, _I'm not noble. _He reached the tavern soon after her, cursing himself for not bringing his sword as he did so. Not that it mattered, when with a flick of his wrist he could annihilate the bar's inhabitants. All except her, of course, no matter how tempting. Yet he was not in a good mood, and a sword fight with one of the tavern's unlucky drunk bastards might have done him some good, might have alleviated some of his foul mood. Pushing the heavy wooden double doors of the tavern back, he was immediately assaulted by the strong smell of ale and sweat. Cringing in disgust, he pushed his way inside, dark eyes searching for Alea. He wondered why she had chosen this place of all places, knowing her aversion to dirt, grime, and anyone she considered unclean and below her station and therefore unworthy of her presence. For a moment he envisioned her having to survive outside of the palace, without the luxuries his oh-so gracious King provided her with, and nearly laughed at the thought.

Alea wouldn't last a day.

Catching sight of her hood, he pushed his way through the crowd of drunken men, and realized that she was speaking to someone, shaking her head at an overbearing man that leered over her. Even from where he was he could hear his his voice: a dramatic, over-the top drunken slur. Murtagh's hands clenched at his sides as he drew closer. He could tell exactly what kind of man he was, like much of the rest of the tavern's clientele. The Rusted Axe had a reputation for some of the shiftiest lowlifes about, and it would not be the first time that Murtagh had considered closing the place down, permanently.

"Ohr, c'mn. M'rooom's r'ght 'pstairs," he exaggerated, pretending to stagger. "J'st help meh up t' me room, there's a good lass,"

"I would suggest you walk away." Alea told him quietly. Murtagh was nearly at their table when the man reached for her arm and grasped her tightly, pulling her out of her seat. Quick as a flash, Alea twisted out of his grasp and then moved behind her foe, gripping his head into her small hands and twisting. A sickening crack, and the man crumpled to the ground, dead of a broken neck. Alea met Murtagh's gaze and held it, offered him a pleasant smile, and then used the body of the dead man as a stepping stone to her seat. Eyebrow raised, Murtagh stepped over the body, joining her at the table. The rest of the tavern hardly spared them a glance; the patrons either too drunk or too uncaring of the dead man on the floor. He wasn't the first of the night, nor would he be the last. If only they'd seen a woman, much less the Lady Alea and her methods of delivering death.

"Death to the man who attempts to take you to his bed. I'll be sure to notify Lord Derek," Murtagh teased. He saw her eyes tighten beneath her hood.

"Don't speak to me of D—of _Lord_ Derek," she said with a surprising amount of bitterness. Murtagh obliged, uninterested in arguing. So he nodded to the man.

"Seems a little harsh, does it not, Milady?" Alea allowed her victim a cursory glance. He didn't judge her for the action, privately he agreed, but he was always curious about answers such as these, much more interested in her motivation and how much or how little she felt for her kills.

"Hardly," She said, taking a handkerchief from her cloak and demurely wiping her hands clean. "Death was kind in comparison to his deeds over the past few years. His most recent…victim…wasn't so lucky, and the poor girl was mere hours ago. Left her to bleed to death in an alley two streets over." Alea told him.

"You looked into his mind,"

"He was projecting," she said, pursing her lips and looking again to the man. "Now I regret killing him so painlessly." She was clearly unapologetic for her act, and Murtagh wasn't sure how to feel. He'd never given the dead much thought before, other than the fact that he was not quite ready to join them, at least not until that day in the Beors with that blasted brother of his. Eragon had been so horrified by his execution of the slave trader, something that had caused him to question himself every now and again. Funny how that day seemed like years ago, like another lifetime. He wondered what made it so black and white for Alea, as it once had been for him.

"Why are we here, Alea?" Murtagh asked. "It obviously isn' to drink," Murtagh said, gesturing at their empty table. Alea scrunched her nose up in disgust.

"Using any tankards here—I'd be afraid to catch something even magic couldn't cure," she said "I'm already going to have to burn these clothes,". Murtagh chuckled in spite of himself, and leaned over the table slightly closer to her.

"Then why are we here? I also happen to know it isn't because of my exquisite company," he said. Alea's eyes unfocused for a moment as he stared into her eyes, and for a moment Murtagh wondered if she actually felt something for kill, because he could swear he could see a shred of emotion there. But just as quickly she blinked her eyes and she focused once more on him. She leaned as far from him as she could before she spoke. Her hood fell to her shoulders as her back hit her chair, revealing her dark black hair woven back into a single thick braid.

"What's my challenge, Murtagh?" she asked him, and her tone held none of it's earlier playfulness. "What does the King have in store for me?"

"Why as me when you could ask him directly? As his—"

"As his ward I could what?" she asked threateningly. Murtagh held her measured stare before nodding slowly.

"Yes, as his ward you surely have more presence than I." He said. She shook her head.

"You know I cannot ask this of him. But he trusts you, Murtagh, likes you even. I'm sure he's discussed the matter with you," she said, and Murtagh detected a note of urgency to her words. He frowned.

"Since when have you feared your Challenges? Even your last one. He tested your magic, and you succeeded. I saw the ballroom; the pillars are coated in gold, as is the ceiling. The energy that must have taken you, I can't imagine." he admitted. Her eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't have to imagine anything if you'd been there." She said coldly, and Murtagh sighed. He knew she still resented his attempt at fleeing from the city, from Galbatorix. But he wasn't about to lie and say he was sorry, something she realized as well.

"I fear that this challenge shall be more difficult than the past. This shall be my Twentieth Challenge, and he will expect much from me. Speed, endurance, magic, strategy, knowledge, my skill with the blade—all this and more he has demanded of me, and I have successfully proven myself to him. But twenty years later and I with the state of the Empire against the Varden? This will be my defining Challenge. All my life he has been training me—and I want to apply these skills I've learned. I know I can serve our King well, Murtagh." She said. Her eyes were burning with an intensity he had never encountered from her before, and once more he was struck by how passionate she was about serving Galbatorix. She wanted nothing more than to please him, which always made him wonder.

Was Galbatorix truly as evil as the Varden portrayed him to be? As Eragon did? He ruled with an iron fist—but he wanted to restore the dragons to their rightful glory. He wanted to unite Alagaësia under one banner—was that so wrong? He had used both his and Thorn's true names against them—and yet Alea, even after the yearly Challenges he put her through, still adored him dearly. She was subject to his punishment just as he was in the event of failure, yet she pledged herself willingly to him. She was not under oath. He wondered how much more freedom he and Thorn would have if they willingly pledged his allegiance.

"I realize that some of my—some of the King's methods may seem cruel, but think! Was it not the Varden that waged war against us first? It is they who raid the Empire, they who fill the minds of our people with lies of our King! What cities have cast off the color's of the Empire and have turned to the Varden? None." she said.

"I suppose. And Surda, Milady?" Murtagh ceded. Alea rolled her eyes.

"Don't be daft and drop the titles. We are not in the castle and we both know you don't mean them." she disregarded. "And Surda? What of her? Surda exists because we allow her to. She is hardly a country, and hardly a threat to us." she said. Murtagh's lips twitched.

"Very well. But what is it that you think your feat in the Challenge will grant you, Alea?" Murtagha asked her.

"I am hoping the King will grant me a position on his war council, and that he will hear my own. Murtagh, this could be all over. I don't like this war. There are innocents dying on both sides. There are those who follow the Varden blindly, raised as children to hate the Empire and bred to die for a failing, rebel cause." she said. She was so fervent in her speech that she seemed to forget who she had distanced herself from him before, and this time it was she who leaned across the table, propped up on her elbows.

"There are actions of his that I do not condone, I will admit. He could fly out upon Shruiken's back and end this war in an instant. He could have done so a long time ago. OF course, had that idiot Shade Durza succeeded in his task, we would be in much more different a position. Saphira's egg would have been in the King's possession, and not in the hands of some farm boy. But we, we could do it, Murtagh. I am certain of it. He is testing me in a different manner this time. If I succeed, I know I will be strong enough." she told him breathlessly. Their faced were much closer by this point, though she seemed so invested in their conversation she didn't seem to notice. He could smell her sweet breath as it fanned across his cheeks.

"Strong enough for what?" He asked slowly, suspiciously.

"We could end this. You and I and Thorn. We could crush this rebellion, I am certain of it. What is Eragon without his pet-elf magicians? He is a young Rider, less powerful than you. He may have been gifted by an old shadow-dragon, but you are more than that. You are an amazing Rider—I've seen you train, I've sparred with you! You are more skilled than he with a blade, and with the power of hearts at our disposal? How would he stop us then?" Alea asked him. There was a spark in her eyes that he couldn't miss. But the thought of going up against Eragon, so hellbent on ending this…whatever he felt or may have felt for his brother, he didn't want Eragon dead. And Alea wouldn't understand—she didn't even know Eragon was his brother.

"Eragon would be hard pressed, yes," he agreed quietly. She flashed him a triumphant smile.

"So you'll think about it then?" she asked. Murtagh snorted.

"You act as though I have a choice." he told her. It was then she seemed to realize how close they had gotten, and she moved back once more. She fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Why would you choose anything else? You knew him for a few months at best—what sort of friendship did you develop that is worth this war?" she asked, frowning. Murtagh chuckled bitterly.

"You'd be surprised." he said. She stared at him evenly for another moment, before shaking her head.

"Well, we should be returning to the castle, then."

"Yes, I'd rather not anger the King," Murtagh agreed, glad for the change of subject. That, and since her hood had fallen back, Alea had been garnered more than a few stares, though he doubted any of them recognized her past a woman; the King's Ward wasn't a face recognizable to the general public, seeing as she never left the comfort of the palace. She laughed loudly, drawing more stares.

"It's not him I fear. It's Matron Ulma. The woman would have me skinned-alive!"

"Not before she had me strung up,"

* * *

**Thanks for clicking on this story! I don't own the Inheritance Cycle, and I hope you enjoyed! **


	3. Chapter 2: Damn Perceptive Dragon

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* * *

**Chapter II: Damn Perceptive Dragon**

_The Courtyard, Galbatorix's Castle, Uru'Baen_

* * *

Thorn Bloodscales perked up at the sound of light footsteps. It was early in the morning, the air was still crisp from the receding night, and Murtagh was still asleep. He lifted his ruby head from where he rested on the grass in his secluded patch of the palace courtyard. He liked it here; no one disturbed him, and during those rare days were he was allowed to just rest in the sun's light he could forget the Mad King that ruled over him and the war he was forced to partake in. His long, barbed tongue darted out into the air and, recognizing the scent of a familar human and livestock, he opened up his ruby eyes.

From behind one of the high walls that shielded him from prying eyes, a young woman was walking over to him, a dead sheep stomach down across each shoulder. Their necks were twisted at unnatural angles, and with each step the woman took their heads bounced against her chest. She stopped before him and bowed as far as she dared with her load, and then threw the offerings down at his feet. They were sheared so well that they only bore skin; Thorn knew she had this done because she knew how much he detested having their fluffy wool stuck in his teeth. She left him to his meal, and then returned ten minutes later, arms laden with a large wooden water pail and a heavy leather bag across her hip.

Setting the objects down near him on the grass, she opened up the leather bag and selected a thin brush with strong bristles. There had been a time when he acknowledged her presence with a snap of his jaws and the occasional plume of threatening smoke. But as her persistence preserved, his had waned.

"Good morning Thorn," she greeted him as she dipped the brush into the water pail. She never contacted him through his mind first, and when she could she avoided doing so entirely out of respect. It was one of the few reasons why he tolerated her. Unlike the other two-legs that scrambled around about him in fear, she respected him. And that, for Thorn, was much more valuable and important: respect over fear. He found that few seemed to agree with him here in the capital.

_Well met, _he grunted in return as he yawned and arched his back like a great scaly cat. _To what do I owe the pleasure of _two_ pieces of meat?_ he asked as he settled once more. He rested his head on his forearms, and shut his eyes as she began her work cleaning his scales.

"It is my own apology for keeping your Rider to myself yesternight." Alea told him as she began cleaning through the gaps in between his scales.

_I hardly noticed. I slept, for once. _Thorn told her as an edge crept into his voice. A shadow crossed over Alea's features, and this time she permitted herself to touch her mind to his.

_Yes, I plan on speaking to the King about that. Your training with Shruiken is useless if that damn dragon cannot control himself. _She said angrily.

_Better you than I, or even Murtagh. You he might consider. _

_Does it still pain you? _Alea asked, frowning in concern.

_A little._ He admitted after a moment. _It is more than an annoying itch than anything._ he added. Shaking her head at the ruby dragon's attempt at bravado, she walked around his side, carefully inspecting his scales. She winced as she found a slash across his red scales where the scales appeared darker than the rest, an angrier red, and she gently prodded around the wound with her fingers. She kept at it until Thorn twitched beneath her soft touch after she proffer a particularly dark scale.

_Sorry._ She began to feel around the edges of the scale when she suddenly yelped in pain, retracting her fingers and jumping away from the dragon's side. White hot pain shot up her arm, and her fingers and palm tingled with the remnants of pain, as though she had stuck her hand into a cooking fire.

_Did you cut yourself on a scale?_ he asked. He remembered the first time she and ever given him a "bath" she had nicked herself on a loosening scale hard enough to draw blood.

_My hand feels like it's on fire!_ she exclaimed, teeth gritted against the pain. Thorn snaked around to inspect her hands. They were bright pulsing red, and nasty blisters were already forming.

_Ah, that would explain it,_ Thorn said in dismay. _Dragon's blood. Shruiken's dripped onto me when I dealt my blow. I doubt the mountain of a dragon even noticed, _Thorn grumbled unhappily.

_Why didn't Murtagh heal you?_ Alea asked, finding it odd that the Red Rider would overlook an injury to his scaly companion. It was no secret how much he loved his dragon and hated seeing him in any sort of pain. Alea had seen Murtagh come dangerously close to ill in trying to heal Thorn after some of their more intense training sessions with the King.

_Because,_ Thorn said simply. _I was afraid that if I told him he would do something stupid._ He lowered his head to the ground once more and shut his eyes. _He's gained that annoying habit_. Alea silently agreed as she thought over her knowledge of the Ancient Language. With _waise hiel _the King could practically raise the dead. She, on the other hand, was not yet powerful enough to use such a simple spell to heal such extensive damage. Finally, after mulling over a particularly long sentence, she spoke her spell. The magic worked in two parts; the first removed the alien dragon blood, and the second fixed the damage done to Thorn. The ruby dragon's muscles twitched beneath his scales in unease, and then stopped moving.

_It is done_. Thorn said finally. Alea smiled and dipped her head slightly, feeling the toll of magic. He would never speak his thanks, and yet she knew of his gratitude.

"So what is it that you must do today?" Alea asked as she scrubbed her own hands with water from the pail. She healed them with a much simpler spell. Thorn snorted, and a plume of smoke escaped his nostrils.

_Whatever it is that the King wishes of us. I doubt he'll have us train today. Murtagh may not see it, but the King does not push us as he once did, _said Thorn.

"Yes, he is very much impressed with Murtagh's progress." There was a note of bitterness in her words, and though she was certain Thorn noticed it, he did not comment upon it. Instead he remained silent the rest of the morning as she scrubbed away at his scales. When she was finally done, Alea gathered her possessions to leave, but stopped short, turning slightly to the red dragon.

"Thorn, what made you choose Murtagh? What I mean to ask is: what does a dragon search for in a counterpart? Is it something that is immediately sensed, or something that could take…time?" She hated the desperation in her voice. It made her sound vulnerable.

_It varies from dragon to dragon, I should think, but I wouldn't know for certain. You, for example, will have no noble in this castle, and probably none other in Alagaesia, nor any man who is not Murtagh. Similarly—_

"I beg your pardon!" Alea exclaimed, the redness in her cheeks bright enough to rival Thorn's own scales. Thorn growled his laughter, the sound reverberating across the stone walls.

_You cannot hide your feelings from me, child. My Rider may be blind but I am not._ At that moment Murtagh appeared next to her, his glare turning to an expression of confusion as he beheld the obviously flustered Alea.

"What are you on about?" he asked, slightly irritated as he always was when Alea came to care for Thorn. Not that he'd ever mention it out loud. Because although he regarded Thorn almost jealously, he could also in a way pity Alea. Every day she strove to become the person that the green egg would hatch for, and every day she was rejected. He was not so certain she knew how to deal with rejection, having little to no experience in the matter. Sputtering indignantly in a language Murtagh doubted was spoken by anyone other than her, Alea thrust the bucket of water she was holding into his arms and stomped away.

_What just happened?_

_I'd say a bout womanly angst,_ Thorn said with a deep chuckle, leaving Murtagh more confused than ever.

* * *

_Damn perceptive dragon, _Alea groaned to herself. She was lying face down, her face buried into her embroidered goose-feather pillow, feeling as if the end of the would was nigh.

And perhaps it was.

"Are you alright, Milady?" she heard the concerned voice of Melina from somewhere above her. She groaned once more in response.

"Please, is there anything I can get you?" she asked, touching a light hand to her shoulder. Alea finally rolled over, blowing her hair out of her face.

"Oh Melina, I feel like such a foolish girl. A very foolish, very young girl." she finally sighed.

"And why is that Milady?" Melina asked as she walked around the large bed and began to pull a brush through Alea's raven tresses. Alea ignored the question, deciding she didn't want to dwell on the matter any longer.

"Has the King sent for me for the day?"

"Nothing, Milady. No instructions have been left for you from his Lordship. I've only been told that you are not allowed to venture into the West Wing, as there preparations for your party are being made," Melina informed her, stepping away from behind her. "And please, Milady, you've only been awake a mere few hours and this is the second time I've had to do your hair," Melina said rather boldly. Rather than irritation, a spark of amusement lit within Alea, distracting her from her earlier embarrassment. She observed her handmaiden carefully. She liked her, which was rare for her. Melina was a docile young woman, quiet and kind and hardworking, though occasionally she surprised Alea by being funny or more vivacious than expected. And loyal. Melina had proved to be very loyal, never repeating a word of what Alea confided in her to the other help. Alea had tested this more than once, and every time she was pleasantly surprised that no rumors stirred the castle because of Melina.

"Your birthday is soon as well, is it not?" Alea inquired. She remembered that sometime around her own birthday last year she had seen several of the older cooks present her with a birthday bread.

"Oh, yes, you remembered, Milady," Melina said with a blush "It is the Saturday after next," she said, her toffee colored cheeks darkening pink. She was pretty, Alea decided. She had never given her servant's looks much thought, but she was pretty. Interesting, even. Her skin was the color of dark honey and her thick dark hair was always in an immaculate bun, pulled away from her face. Alea wondered what she looked like with her hair down, and if she ever wore her hair down for any specific man, and if his attention she captured.

"Is there anything you'd like for your birthday, Melina?" Alea's question seemed to startle the servant girl; she nearly dropped the vase of flowers she had been moving.

"I beg your pardon, Milady?" Melina asked as she laid the purple vase down on the round wooden table in the room.

"Well it_ is_ customary to receive a gift on one's natal day, is it not?" Alea asked with a smile as she pushed herself off from her bed.

"I—well—yes—but I'm a servant, and you're, _you—_Milady, that is to say—" Melina stammered through her words as an embarrassed blush crept up to her cheeks. Alea chuckled at her antics.

"Then perhaps you should consider this a reward for your excellent service. It's common knowledge that exceptional servants are hard to come by," Alea continued.

"Yes, but Milady a gift—and you've already granted me leave to visit my family in Teirm that I could not possibly accept anything else!" Melina said uncomfortably. Alea pursed her lips slightly and then slid herself off the tall four poster bed and strode to her closet, flipping through the rack of dresses. She settled on a lilac number, and ran a hand over the delicate silk. She pulled the dress out for examination. As had been the style the year past, the skirts of the dress hovered just above the floor. The waist was cinched by crisp white ribbon, the same that was threaded through the back of the dress. It was simple, and Alea couldn't even remember the last time she had worn it.

"Then what if," she said, holding the dress aloft, drawing Melina's eyes to the glossy material. "I were to give you this dress? As gratitude for your loyalty, of course. The gods know I've been nothing but open with you. Yet you've never wavered and never has a word that I've said been repeated outside of my company."

"I couldn't possibly—" Melina began, but Alea waved her response away with a hand.

"Please, Melina. This dress is a year old. Year and a half, maybe? I won't be wearing it again. There must be a man in Teirm you fancy—perhaps a merchant's son, a sailor?" Melina's blush deepened in a tell-tale sign.

"As I suspected. He wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off you in this." she tugged at the generous neckline. "Much less anything else if he were to see you in this," Alea smirked.

"Milady!" Melina exclaimed, surprised, embarrassed, and even little amused.

"I don't forget those who have been loyal to me, Melina. Loyalty, it goes without saying, is of high import in my House," she said. Melina met her eyes then, and it dawned on the girl just what was being asked of her. To take the dress meant more than a gesture of fondness. To take the dress would mean to willingly give herself to Alea beyond the call of a servant. It would mean to be her eyes and ears, to be ready to be called upon for more sensitive matters than to just tighten a loose corset. And refusal…

"I will gladly accept this gift, Milady. Thank you so very much. You've always been kind to me, and it was fortunate that I was assigned to be yours," Melina said with a deep curtsey. Alea nodded in satisfaction, and held the dress out for the girl to take. Just as Melina reached for the dress, Alea paused.

"Do take care of this dress, Melina. I've grown to be rather fond of it, and I would not want for it to go to waste." She said. Melina nodded, once more understanding the deeper meaning of her words. Alea finally gave the girl the dress, allowing her to admire it and thank her for a few more minutes before having her set it aside.

"Come, now. I wish to dine with my uncle," Alea said.

* * *

Lord Aelfric was one of the Lords that held considerable favor with the King. His family had been from one of the first to serve the King more than once hundred years ago, and had been of his most loyal ever since. Lord Aelfric, now in his mid forties, was considered by Alea as her uncle. He had always treated her as his niece, bringing her beautiful glass wind-chimes from Teirm, precious stones from Leona Lake, and even hides from the pelts of animals from the mysterious Spine. She treasured his rare company for he lived all the way in Dras-Leona, and she seldom saw him except for his visits. The guest wing was only a few corridors away, and Alea soon found herself standing outside of his room. She knocked twice on the door, and it was a short moment before it was opened.

He was a handsome man; he was tall, even a few inches taller than Murtagh, and he had short black hair and a closely trimmed black beard and mustache that was beginning to become sprinkled with grey. His lips pulled back into a smile revealing his teeth, and when he laughed his hazel eyes grew warmer. Yet at the same time there was something frazzled about them, and his laugh—perhaps nervous?

"Lady Alea, good afternoon, is it?" he inquired. "Haven't left my room all morning, seeing as I've been going over all these scrolls," he waved the one he held in his hand as proof. "I've even had the curtains drawn—I wouldn't know if it were night or day!" Alea smiled. Handsome and respectable as he was, Lord Aelfric was also known to be a bit peculiar.

"Day, about time for lunch. Would you care to join me?" she asked. "I can arrange a meal to be set outside in the garden. The fresh air will do you some good," she said.

"Ah, very well. I cannot very well refuse my niece with a pout like that!" Aelfric grinned as he turned around and tossed the scroll back into the chamber. Alea glimpsed a desk covered in smilier rolled parchments before he hastily, yet smoothly, shut the door behind himself. Then he offered his blue clad arm to her, and together they walked to the garden. Alea sent Melina to the kitchens to have a table sent out to the garden and prepared with lunch.

Alea loved the garden. The air was fresh, fresher than it was anywhere else in the castle, and it was wonderfully scented by the thousands of flowers that decorated the carefully manicured and maintained garden. The lawn was well kept, and the plants and flowers regularly watered and cared for by the castle servants. Every color she could think of, and all the shades between them, could be found in the petals of the blooming flowers.

"So, uncle," Alea asked as they strolled the garden. The table was just being carried out, and from the corner of her eye she watched two young men quickly spread a green table cloth over it. She frowned at the color before returning her eyes to the man she was so attached to. "How has Dras-Leona been? I hardly had the chance to ask, you arrived so late the other night," she insquired. Aelfric rolled his eyes, an expression he was known for.

"Dismal as ever. It is not an easy attempt to reform a city such as that," he explained. "It requires much purification, which is difficult when it has such a history of attracting the most unsavory types. There are days I wish I could level it all; but then I remember that if there is even one good soul amongst the tainted, then the trouble is worth it," he said, and Alea pondered his words. Interesting, though she wasn't sure she could agree. She had been raised with the mentality 'for the greater good', and it was from there that she developed her morality and sense of right and wrong.

"Speaking of attraction, have you found yourself a wife yet? Because I can name more women than I have fingers and toes who would love to be courted by you," Alea laughed. The older man snorted, shaking his head.

"Of course you do. All the women you know are the ever so _enamoring _ladies of Uru'Baen, vultures if I ever saw any. More attracted to gold and shiny gems than the greediest dragon, I reckon," he said. Alea laughed, mostly because his description was spot on. "No, a woman at my side is the last thing I require. My sister manages my estate as well as a wife would, and we are at a time in which love is not at the forefront of my mind. Women are beautiful, enchanting creatures; but they are also fickle. A man can only have a woman and a war if he is at war with his woman," he said, and again Alea laughed.

"Do you believe me fickle, uncle?" she giggled. Aelfric grinned widely.

"The most fickle, because otherwise King Galbatorix would not be so taken with you," he said. Alea grinned, pleased at his assertion.

"And what about you? You are still young and there must surely be some young man you'd wish to gain favor of the King through the marriage of his ward. Is there no noble who catches your eye?" he asked, _No noble, no_, thought Alea.

"And wasn't there that young man, what was his name again? Henry? Henrick?"

"Derek." Alea groaned as Aelfric began steering them back towards the table.

"Yes, him. Are you not interested?" Aelfric asked as he helped her into her seat. Alea waited until he was seated again to resume speaking. One of the young men who had taken out the table poured them each a goblet of water from a jug he was holding, and then assured them that the wine would soon be out. She picked up the goblet, shaking it a little to make the slice of lemon inside swirl around once.

"There isn't much to be interested in." Alea said after taking a sip. "He's the son of a noble, an above average swordsmen, and has lived here safely all his life. He poses no challenge to me at all, which I find lacking and boring. At least M—" She caught herself, mentally berating herself for the slip.

"At least who?" Aelfric asked with interest. She considered just for a moment telling him the truth about everything that had been weighing on her mind—about Murtagh, and her feelings for him, and that she was afraid that the green dragon egg would never hatch for her, that she'd forever disappoint Galbatorix—but then she remembered herself, and the moment passed.

"At least my King allows me the grace of choosing whom I am to marry, and when, if his silence on the matter is any indication at all. Few women—especially in my position—are granted such leniency and independence," she said. Aelfric nodded in agreement.

"That is very true. But you are young still. You have more pressing matters to attend to as the," he glanced at the servent still standing just off to the right of them. "as a young woman with such a position." Alea smiled weakly.

"Yes, like my Challenge. Has he mentioned my Challenge to you? Even a hint would be helpful to me," she asked hopefully. Aelfric frowned, and for a moment Alea wondered if he was upset that she had asked him.

"No, actually, which I find strange. He's always taken to informing me on the matter…yet this year he has not. I only hope that I have not upset him in some way," Aelfric said with a sigh. Now he appeared troubled, and it was Alea who frowned.

"Nonsense. He has always held you in high regard. I suppose my Challenge will be a surprise to all this year." she said. Aelfic offered her a grim expression of sympathy.

"I wish you all the luck in the land, Alea."

* * *

The next morning Alea woke up with a knot in her stomach that only tightened as she grew further stressed. She'd hardly slept, her sleeping mind torturing her with made up scenarios about the rapidly approaching Challenge. Some were silly, others terrifying. In some she was being made to juggle all of the castle's fine china; in another she had to confess her feelings to Murtagh, who rejected her with his deep, resounding laughter before the entire royal court. In another she was trapped in a maze, only to find that she was trapped within her own mind, and in the worst one she was standing simply before the elusive green dragon egg. And in the most gruesome yet: men laughing widely even as blood spilled from their mouths and slashes at their necks, swinging swords and axes.

She'd rather attempt to capture Eragon and Saphira single-handedly than to face the humiliating rejection of the green egg before Galbatorix and the Court.

And so that day she studied, ordering book after book to be sent to her room from the library. Melina hovered over her worriedly as she poured over each tome, and tried coaxing her away for a proper meal. Just when Alea was about to agree a horrid thought came to her: what if the King pit her against Murtagh? She was beyond a fair swordsman, but he was a master; he'd beaten her many more times than she had beaten him, as much as she hated to admit it. And so off to the training grounds she went hacking away at invisible foes and the unfortunate solders already on the field. By evening she had a small meal brought to her room, and she once again immersed herself in her dusty tomes. It was late into the night that she went to bed, after shooing Melina away.

But again peace evaded her, and again she was plagued with dreams, this time darker and heavier, so fierce she felt she was drowning in an abyss of darkness—she saw two small orbs of green from within the black smoke, and she reached a hand towards them—

"M-Milady!" There was a gasp and Alea's eyes flew open, gasping as she felt something warm in her hand. Her eyes met the distressed Melina, and Alea recoiled in shock, letting go of the servant girl's neck. Melina sucked in air greedily as she massaged her already bruising neck.

"Melina! I—I'm sorry—I have no idea why—" Alea stammered, paralyzing shock still coursing through her veins.

"It, it is alright, Milady," Melina croaked. "Please don't fuss over me. It's you we need to worry about. I should have been getting your ready an hour ago, but I thought I'd let you sleep—"

"Nonsense, just remove your hand." Alea ordered, and Melina did as told. She winced at the unmistakable light purple signs of where her fingers had gripped so firmly. She raised a hand, and with two murmured words the bruise disappeared.

"Amazing!" Melina breathed, gently touching her neck. "I've hardly ever seen magic preformed! The few times I've seen it—it leaves me speechless every time!" she said. Then she seemed to realize something, because she began scrambling around her.

"Please, Milady! It's been several hours already since dawn! You must go and bathe at once as I ready your dress!" Melina cried. Alea nodded at her frantic servant, allowing herself to be tugged over to the already filled bathtub. The hot water was scalding, but it did little to calm her pounding heart, or to dissolve the knot in her stomach. Because today was the day.

Today was her birthday.

* * *

"I can dress myself," Murtagh snapped at the servant irritably. The young man only nodded, wide eyed and lip quivering, and practically bowed his way out of Murtagh's chambers. Murtagh rolled his eyes. The servant, he thought, must be new; no other would have bothered to attempt to help him with such a mundane task. They knew him too well.

_You were saying?_ Thorn prompted. His head rested on the balcony behind him, and he was looking into the room with one of his ruby eyes.

_What was I saying? Ah, yes—if Alea does succeed and Galbatorix sends us against the Varden I find it highly likely that we shall succeed. Our largest threat is Saphira; separate my brother from his elf-magicians and he is weak. I am confident I can beat him. And once he is captured I doubt Saphira will last long before giving into the King's demands. And then the Varden will have absolutely no line of defense. _

_Other than their army,_ Thorn reminded. Murtagh chuckled, glancing over his shoulder from his wardrobe to Thorn.

_As I said, no line of defense,_ Murtagh said. He could hear Thorn's own amusement through their bond.

_Then why are you so reluctant?_ Thorn asked. The smile faded from Murtagh's face and he shrugged, tossing the tunic he had just removed onto his unmade bed. As he did so he caught sight of his reflection in his mirror, of his back and the disfiguring scar, running from shoulder to hip. He quickly looked away.

_Because,_ he said with a sigh. _Eragon will not swear fealty to Galbatorix. He will fight until he dies, until the King kills him. And if Eragon proves too be too much trouble, Galbatorix _will_ kill him. That much I know. And Eragon…Eragon is many things, but he was my friend. Is my brother. He has not wronged me, and I don't like the idea of opposing the little family I have left. Eragon and I both share Morzan as a father, but Eragon has taught me that we don't have to share in his legacy…_

_I suppose I understand. If the King ordered me to kill Saphira, it would give me no pleasure. In a manner, she is as kin to me as Eragon is to you. You two are the last of Morzan's blood. We are the nearly the last of our race. _Thorn agreed. Lifting his head from the balcony ground, he shook his head, and the red scaled from his neck rippled in the sunlight, disappearing over the balcony sided.

_Very well, _he said, shaking his wings out. _Wish the raven-child good fortune on my behalf. _He said.

_Alea? You aren't staying for the challenge?_ Murtagh asked in surprise.

_I've been granted leave to hunt, and it has been far too long since I've been able to do so properly. The…festivities provide me with ample time. _

_Be careful, then. And don't wander too far and beware of S—_

_I will be fine, hatchling._ Thorn said as he began turning away .

_No, I do believe that _you _are the hatchling, seeing as I_ am _older than you._ Murtagh said smugly.

_Then I suppose it is a good thing that age does not necessarily mean wisdom._ And with that the ruby dragon cut off their connection, declaring victory in their small and pointless argument.

_Aye, _agreed Murtagh. _If I were were wise than perhaps I'd know how to spare her,_ he thought. He quickly shut those thoughts down before they could wander into dangerous territory; he didn't like to think what Galbatorix might do with the knowledge of his attraction to the beautiful Varden leader Nasuada….no, thoughts such as those were best kept secret.

With another sigh, this one wistful, Murtagh crossed over once again to his wardrobe to get himself ready for the evening ahead. Already he was feeling nervous on Alea's behalf; he knew tonight would not be easy on her. He knew that even now in her own chambers she was probably getting ready, and that she was on edge. Choosing a black ensemble, he quickly donned the clothing, which was very nice indeed. He did not know who had made the clothing, but he knew that it was fit for a prince. Outside of training and the oath swearing, Murtagh and to admit that there was little to complain about the way the King treated him; he was in many ways treated just as well as Alea. Which, of course, made him suspicious. Even after his…_rebellious streak_, the King had done little more than punish him. Not that the punishments had been pleasant, but he had expected worst.

Finally dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a black tunic, he belted Zar'Roc around his waist in a ceremonial belt. He both hated having the sword at his hip and was also comforted by it; though he detested it nearly as much as he detested the man who had once wielded it, his father who had used it to strike him down so many years ago, it being in his possession also meant that no one would ever harm him with it again. It was he who wielded it now, who mastered the deadly blade, and it would be he who would or would not spare his victims the bite of Zar'roc.

Pleased with himself, Murtagh left his room, muttering his usual incantation to lock his room to anyone but himself. He began walking towards the general direction of the ballroom, but then a thought occurred to him, and he veered to the left corridor, soon finding himself outside of Alea's chambers. He let himself in, and he moved without a sound into the room. The room was neat, much neater than his, and the reason behind the neatness was currently standing in front of a screen as someone changed behind it, holding several dresses in her arms. Actually, the servant girl reminded him a little of Nasuada, though her skin was fairer. No, there was something about her poise, the way she held herself. Her kind smile. Again he pushed the thought from his mind.

"This one will do just fine. Just not a green dress, Melina, and most certainly not a red dress, If anything, burn any dress I own in either color. Perhaps I should ban the color within the Empire," Alea's musing wafted up over the screen. From her tone alone Murtagh could tell that Alea was annoyed and distracted, much as he'd expected.

"Yes of course, Milady," her servant agreed, appearing taken aback. Murtagh smirked as he guessed the reason behind Alea's aversion to the two colors. As soon as the servant girl caught sight of him she curtsied, with some difficulty due to the dresses, and opened her mouth to address him. But Murtagh silenced her with a look, and then gesturing for her to leave.

"Leave us," he told her not unkindly, though firmly. The girl curtsied, laid the dresses back down onto the made bed and then left the chambers.

"Murtagh?" Alea's surprised voice floated to him from behind the screen, and then a sharp intake of breath and a quiet curse.

"Well I should hope you can recognize _my_ voice," Murtagh chuckled. They'ed certainly known each other for long enough.

"Excuse me? Is that why you're here? To gloat and pick fun at me? Because I have better things to do, Murtagh," Alea responded briskly. This time it was Murtagh who was surprised.

"Gloat?" he asked. "Over what? I only meant that we've known each other a long time," he trailed off, confused. Alea remained silent for a moment.

"Oh," she said a little awkwardly. She mumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like his own dragon's name, and Murtagh wondered if her behavior had anything to do with the conversation she had had with Thorn a morning ago.

"Well is there an actual reason you are here? As I said, I'm occupied at the moment," she said, far more audibly this time.

"It'd be nice to actually see you, rather than to speak to a screen," Murtagh said with an eye roll. He was starting to become irritated just by talking to her, and he ran a hand through his dark hair. Why was he even here? To wish her luck? Because he could do so at the party…There was a huff of annoyance and Alea stepped out from behind the screen.

"What the bloody hell do you want, Murtagh?" she asked, hands on her hips. Her eyes widened as she saw him, and he took her moment of hesitation to run his eyes over her. She wore an all black dress of velvet that shimmered with her even smallest movement. Her small waist was accentuated by a fitted black corset and her arms covered by long sleeves of carefully embroidered black lace, her pale skin revealed through it's intricate designs. Her long hair was tied off to the side in a messy braid. He could not deny that she was beautiful, and for a moment he wondered when she had grown into the fine looking woman that stood before him, and where the young innocent girl had gone. In some ways she was more of a sibling to him than Eragon was; they certainly fought like it. Since they had been young he had teased her and she had trailed behind him eager for the adventures that would spell trouble for them both. He would climb a tree and she would want to climb higher; he'd taught her how to ride a horse and she'd wanted to race. But now the traces of youth were faint in her face, a face that was now contorted in horror.

"Change! At once!" She exclaimed finally as she seemed to snap out of her stupor. "Go! _Now!_" she said, moving forward and bodily pushing him towards the door.

"Excuse me, what?" he asked, half laughing at her antics. There was that youth again.

"You heard me! Go and change! We can't _both _go dressed in black! We're _matching_, Murtagh, matching! What will people think?!"

"Why don't you change, seeing as I was ready before you?" he challenged, enjoying her fluster. He highly doubted that anybody would jump to that particular conclusion.

"But it's my birthday—which you failed to even acknowledge—and besides, I don't have time to change. I'm pressed for time, and I doubt you know the the trials of removing and lacing on a corset." she said. He smirked.

"I happen to know more than you think about removing corsets," he said, and she shot him a dirty look.

"You disgust me. People will think—"

"So we'll be the target of a few new rumors. It might matter if I actually thought highly of any of them, but I don't, so…"

"Fine, then. You leave me no choice," Alea said, drawing herself up to full height, chin up. "Murtagh, I order you to return to your chambers and change at once." she said firmly. Murtagh stared at her for a moment before laughing, and she deflated, her expression turning to one of bemusement.

"The first time you ever give me an actual order it's for a change of clothes? I find that highly amusing," Murtagh chuckled.

"Well I don't. You were here for a reason, were you not? Get on with it. Please." she said irritably, and she turned to her vanity, where several jewelry boxes laid open, revealing their treasures inside. Murtagh saw her tighten as she eyed the two pieces within; the offending jewels were a necklace and a bracelet. The necklace had an emerald pendant, and the bracelet looked familiar to him. He had gifted it to her several years ago for her birthday. Ironically the stones that littered the thin silver chain were little rubies. It had been after an evening when she had insisted that red was his color; she and been right. Their relationship had been much simpler at that time; before he had been a rider, before there had been a free rider. She shut the boxes, and slid the drawer open instead, and pulled out a string of pearls. Murtagh took the necklace from her, and gestured for her to turn around.

"I only came," he said as he clasped the necklace around her throat. "on behalf of Thorn." he said, which was a blatant lie. Yet the mention of the dragon caught her attention, because her back stood rigid.

"Oh? What is it? Is he alright?" she asked. Murtagh fought the urge to roll his eyes. It bothered him how much she concerned herself with his dragon. Thorn was, after all, his, just as he was Thorn's. It was like when he was ten and she was eight. He had found a little sparrow with a broken wing and set it on the mend, and Alea had insisted on always helping him and holding the little bird.

"He's fine. He only wished for me to give you his birthday present," Murtagh said.

"Really? What is it?" Alea asked brightly, surprise and excitement lifting her lips into a sudden dazzling smile as she turned around to face him. He was quite close to him, and he slipped his hand over hers, to her deep surprise. He murmured a few words in the ancient language, and Alea's eyes fluttered slightly as a little bit of his energy transferred to her.

"Thank him, please. It is a most generous gift," She said, stepping away from him. Murtagh could see that though her words were sincere, she was disappointed. Perhaps she had expected another jewel, or something material. There was a knock on the door that pulled his eyes away from her.

"Lady Alea, please, we are pressed for time," Melina's voice drifted hesitantly from behind the chamber door. Alea cleared her throat.

"Ah, yes. Murtagh was just leaving, I am sure," Alea called back with a pointed look towards him. Murtagh nodded curtly. Somehow, he'd made her upset, he could tell by her eyes. He only wondered what he'd done this time. "You may enter," she added.

"Lady Alea," he bowed slightly, and then strode out of her chambers. He could feel her eyes burning into his back as he left.

* * *

**I all! Thank you so much for reading this! I'd like to give a shout out to Rosebug for reviewing last chapter! I really appreciated it! :) Next chapter is Alea's Challenge as the plot slowly begins to thicken. **


	4. Chapter 3: Shadow Challenge

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* * *

**Chapter III: Shadow Challenge**

_Lady Alea's Chambers, Galbatorix's Castle, Uru'Baen _

* * *

_Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! _Alea silently fumed. For a wild moment, when he had moved so close to her, she had been convinced that he was about to kiss her. He had no idea of the affect he had on her; apparently Thorn hadn't told informed him regarding that detail. She wasn't sure which was worse; him knowing or not knowing. There was a slight tug on her hair, and Alea scowled as Melina's deft fingers undid her messy from sleep side braid and ran a brush quickly through it before twisting it into an elegant bun at the base of her neck.

"I am sorry, Milady," Melina said apologetically. "Nearly done, only I had wanted to use this new eye kohl from Teirm, but it is green…" she trailed off unsurely. The not so subtle aversion to the color was not lost on the servant.

"Then use another. Black if you must." Alea answered primly. Melina settled for dark purple and violet around her eyes, a decision for which Alea commended her upon as she surveyed her final reflection.

"The colors of the King's House, and I wear the color of his dragon. If he is not pleased to see me as I am, than I am not certain what else I could have been dressed in," she said. Melina nodded once, uncertain as to how, or if, she was expected to answer.

"Murtagh seemed to think you were dressed nice. He was admiring your dress when I came in." Melina said. Alea doubted the words, but was pleased by them nonetheless.

"Come, we are tardy enough as it is." Alea said as left the room, Melina following a few short paces behind her.

Once they had reached the outside of the ballroom in the West Wing, Alea was dismayed to find Lord Derek standing before the tall double doors that were currently closed, arguing with Matron Ulma. She couldn't deny physical attraction to Lord Derek; you'd have to be blind to do so. He was the complete opposite of Murtagh; though just as tall, he had fair blond hair, eyes as blue as the sea, and a well-known, often flashed smile. He was intelligent, well read, and could handle himself quite well with a sword, able to boast five wins in tournament. But his charm was like that of a snake, and she couldn't bring herself to fall attracted to him in the same manner she was to Murtagh. And oh, had she tried! He came from a prestigious family, and he would be her perfect match.

_Damn Murtagh! _Alea exclaimed to herself once again.

"Ah! Lady Alea," Lord Derek had caught sight of her, and he quickly approached her, ignoring the sputtering, grey haired matron glaring at him. When he reached her he caught her hand and kissed it, and she tried not to grimace.

"Happy birth-day!" he greeted. "You look gorgeous. So, how does it feel to be twenty? I still remember my twentieth. It was celebrated just after a jousting tournament I had won. It made for an excellent spirit for the feast after!" he said, laughing merrily.

"That sounds wonderful," Alea smiled tightly, just as Matron Ulma reached them.

"Ah! Finally you've arrived. You look wonderful, lovely green dress," Matron Ulma said distractedly. Both Alea and Derek raised an eyebrow, just as Matron Ulma made a double take, peering at her through her horn rimmed spectacles. "Ah—no. This is unacceptable! What happened to the green dress? The red dress? Those were the choices—you girl, was it not you who had to simply dress her?" Matron Ulma exclaimed, pointing a curled finger at Melina. Melina's eyes widened in alarm. There was a tell-tale fire in her eyes, telling her that she had done something wrong.

"Y-yes, Matron Ulma, But Lady Alea wished to wear this dress instead," Melina said, her voice small. Alea didn't blame her. She knew Matron Ulma frightened most of the servants. There was speculation that she had drank Shade's blood as an infant. Alea decided it was her turn to intervene.

"The fault is mine, Matron Ulma. I specifically chose not to wear those dresses, preferring this one. I insisted, and I do not take commands from servants. I fail to see the issue, however," Alea told her soothingly.

"You were to be escorted _into _the ball, and out at the end of the night by Lord Derek, and now, now your clothes do not match. This is why I have a list, a very specific list that must be closely adhered to!" she said furiously, whipping out a scrolled of parchment from a massive sleeve of her grey robe. Alea rolled her eyes; Matron Ulma was obsessive about the parties and dances she was put in charge of, to the point that she was manic and deeply hated by the castle staff. It was the ambition of a eerily large group to shut her in a closet and never let her out again. But she was good at her job, and even more severe when teaching the ladies of the court on comport and etiquette, which was why she was still around.

"Would you like for me to change? It will only take me—" Lord Derek began, but Matron Ulma shook her head.

"No. There is no time. I'll have to substitute you." She said dismissively, and this time it was she who left him sputtering.

"Just have Lord Aelfric escort me. He's a wonderful dancer." Alea said, annoyed. While the woman was worried about mismatching tunics and skirts, she had real worries. Because once the food had been eaten, the wine drunk, and the songs danced, she would have to face her Challenge.

"Not to worry, not to worry, I have someone in mind. I saw him just five minutes ago and he looks dashing. You two will make a fine pair." Matron Ulma assured her, though who she was attempting to assure—herself or Alea—it wasn't too clear. Alea figured it was herself; she continuously ran her claw-like hands over her hair, smoothing down nonexistent flyways. Alea wondered who Ulma was referring to when the woman disappeared into the ballroom, closing the door behind her once more. And then it dawned on her. It had been he who Matron Ulma had first wanted to approach, and yet had not at Alea's own request.

"NO!" she exclaimed much louder than she'd intended. Actually, she hadn't intended on speaking aloud at all. Lord Derek and Melina offered her curious and worried glances, but Alea only hung her head low. She really did just hate this birthday in particular.

* * *

"I hate you so much," Alea muttered under her breath as she took Murtagh's arm. But her words didn't hold their usual venom. Instead they bore only deep dejection.

"The feeling's mutual," Murtagh whispered back. "Do try not to trip, or step on my feet. I've seen you dance." Alea ignored him.

"I'm having that woman executed." Alea continued under her breath. "Something public, where all of Uru'Baen—nay, all of Alagaesia—can rejoice." Her musings came to an end as the tall double doors were opened wide, and they both put on dazzling smiles. Or at least, Alea did, just as she's been taught. Murtagh only lifted his expression to less haughty than usual. But only slightly.

Despite her dislike for Matron Ulma at the moment, Alea couldn't deny that the woman hadn't outdone herself; the large room was breathtaking. Gold silk banners had been hung from wall to ceiling, and an array of flowers created a sweet smell in the air. The walls were outlined with tables until they reached the crown of the room, at which the High Table had been placed. The tables were clothed in violet, the High Table in gold. And there, at it's center, sat the King himself.

Murtagh nearly had to tug her to get her to walk, and he led her to the center of the ballroom to face the King. They both bowed in respect, and Alea quickly checked the table as she did so. To Galbatorix's right sat Lord Aelfric and next to him Lord Grayson and his wife, Lady Anita and their daughter, Lady Camilla. _Ugh, Lady Camilla._ The two seats on the King's left were unoccupied.

_And I have to sit next to Murtagh through the meal. Lovely. _Alea thought to herself as they turned to face each other. Murtagh bowed and then straightened as he held a hand up, palm facing her, his other held behind his back. The minstrels strung their instruments, and a cheery tune filled the ballroom. Alea mirrored his movements with curtsy, her own hand held close to his own, though without touching as the dance required. Their eyes met as they circled each other, and then they switched hands, reversing their circle. They halted, and then, as the chords of the music picked up, Alea found one of Murtagh's hands at her waist, the other holding her hands raised above her shoulder as they stepped side to side and they twirled.

_Of course he's a wonderful dancer. Bloody brilliant._ Where his hands touched her she felt her skin grow hot, even through the bodice of her dress, and she thanked the gods that that her own hands were not wet and sticky. She tried to avoid his penetrating gaze—she was unprepared for it, so close up—and settled instead on the High Table. Her father was watching her approvingly—no doubt taking note of her dress and her form—while Lord Aelfric looked rather pale.

"Lord Aelfric doesn't look too well," Murtagh commented quietly as he spun Alea around, and she settled back into his arms. She ignored the comment, her eyes falling between them.

"I see you've brought Zar'roc," she said curtly even as the sheath knocked against her hip.

"I see you haven't brought…whatever lesser blade it is you own." Murtagh shot back easily, grimacing when Alea stepped on his foot, hard.

"Oh, my apologies," she smirked.

"I'm not here to kill you as your Challenge, if that is what you're insinuating. I always have my sword with me. Something you'd think you'd also consider doing," Murtagh told her. Then he dug his fingers painfully into her side to compensate for his bruised foot. It was her turn to grimace.

"I am not always allowed a weapon for my Challenge, and when I am it has not always been a sword." Alea told him through gritted teeth. The song finally came to an end, and Murtagh bowed to her before leading her to her own seat beside her father as their audience clapped. Galbatorix stood up, and gestured to the ballroom.

"Ten and eight years to the day I took in the young child of two of my best spellcasters. I have raised Lady Alea as my own daughter, and today it is to her that we cheer and make merry. May the feast commence." He announced in his deep, reverberating voice, and the music began once more, this time lightly, and the chatter and cheers sprung through the ballroom.

"The ballroom is beautiful, Sire," Alea told the King as he sat back down with a tight smile. She was still incredibly nervous, now that she was sitting next to him. His posture was regal as ever, face fair, and coal black eyes gave away nothing.

"I am glad you feel so," Galbatorix agreed just as Alea reached for her goblet. "I have been told the food is to die for," Alea froze just as the goblet touched her lips and very nearly dropped it. She whispered several incantations under her breath in the Ancient Language, only to have her father erupt in deep laughter.

"I can assure you, Lady Alea, that your drink has not been poisoned. Nor your meal." The King told her, and then leaned in slightly. "But tonight, I will not be disappointed. I have waited for this day for a very long while, and I do not wish for you to fail me. You know how I feel about those who fail me." The King said, and Alea's muscles tensed as she attempted to keep herself from trembling.

"Of course, my King. I strive for nothing more than to please you, always." Alea pledged. Satisfied, the King turned his attention to Lord Aelfric. Alea enjoyed her meal a little more, slightly relaxed, given the inference that her Challenge would not be until later. Soon she began to enjoy herself, letting herself revel in the honor of sitting at the King's immediate side and in the attention that was being paid to her. Lords and Ladies ventured to the High Table to wish her and the King (always the King) well, and to present her with gifts. Most of course, was jewelry, and while the value meant little to her when she had enough gold to purchases any jewel in the Empire, it did allow for variety to her collection, and so she accepted these gifts with grace and words of thanks. When Lord Derek stepped up to the High Table, Alea had to keep from groaning aloud.

"Sire," he greeted the King with a low bow, and then her. Alea saw Galbatorix shoot her an amused look, and then slide his eyes to Murtagh, and she felt her cheeks redden as she willed him not to say anything that would embarrass her.

"Yes, Lord Derek," Galbatorix said, and Lord Derek dipped his head.

"I am honored to be recognized by your kingship," Derek said, and Alea fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Yes…my ward has spoken of you often enough for the name to stick," Galbatorix said, and Alea cringed inwardly. She certainly had mentioned Lord Derek a fair amount—to complain. She hastily arranged an embarrassed smile on her face, not that she needed much acting as Lord Derek turned to smile at her, clearly pleased. She felt Murtagh's eyes similarly drawn to her, and she knew he was having trouble containing his laughter. Alea cleared her throat.

"Ah yes, Milady," Lord Derek presented her with an ornate gold box. "For you. Best wishes on your birth-day." He bowed to each of them in turn, and then returned to his table.

"Shut up, Murtagh," she mumbled under her breath, jaw hardening as she held her latest gift out behind her. Melina, standing behind her high backed chair, took it and passed it off to another servant, who would bring the gifts to her chambers. _And Melina, please bring me the box I instructed you to have wrapped._ She practically felt Melina shiver at the unsuspected touch, still unused to the touching of minds.

_Yes, Milady!_ Came the tentative, if loud, response.

"If you'll excuse me, Milord," Alea excused herself as she stood. As was tradition, those who celebrated a birthday presented the home owner with a gift. Alea walked around the tables and to the front of the high tables just as the nobles had done for her, and was joined my her faithful servant. Melina held a black marble box no longer than her forearm out for Alea to take, and Alea took it from her, and then bowed before the King.

"My King, thank you for allowing me into your castle. No ward has ever been so cared for, and for that I am immensely grateful." She straightened and spoke loudly, clearly, so that all could hear her pay respect to the King. "Under your careful guidance I have grown into a woman I can only hope my-blood father would be proud of. But blood or no blood, you are father to me just as you are a father to all your subjects. You are my liege as your are theirs, and it is to you that I raise my goblet high at every meal." There was a gleam in his eye that she distinctly recognized as approval, and she smiled as she opened the black marble box and presented.

Inside, the box was lined in satin the color of blood, and nestled in the bed of silky material was a dagger. It was a simple the dagger, and yet it was the type of dagger you took a second look at. It held a deadly grace and beauty, all black and gleaming as it was. Rather than being straight, the black blade held delicate curves like a slithering snake. It caught the light in a dark brilliance.

"It is an exquisite weapon," Galbatorix proclaimed as he took the dagger into his tan hands. Then he laughed. "Is this what I believe it to be?" Alea's smile widened.

"Yes, My King. The handle is of Shruiken's scales, as is the center of the blade, which is coated with obsidian and imbued with magic. One need only drop a hair on it and it would slice clean." Alea explained. She was happy to see that he was pleased with the gift-much more than she had even expected. There was something in his expression...he was deeply pleased. It had taken much research and experimentation on her part to build, and she'd devoted nearly a year to creating it. Sometimes she thought that the blade was alive, that it reflected the mentality and blood thirst of dragon who's scales it came from. When she'd but pricked a finger on the blade's tip, she'd needed magic to stop the flow of blood.

"I am quite pleased with this new blade of mine, Lady Alea. It is a wonder that will sit well in my collection. Long have I waited for a weapon such as this." He praised, handing it back to her to replace in the box. She shut it and handed it off to Melina, and once again curtsied, assuring him it had been her pleasure.

"And now, Lady Alea, are you ready?" he asked. Alea felt the blood rush from her face, and her eyes flickered to the windows. She had not realized that it had gotten so dark, and she willed herself to appear at ease. Galbatorix stood, and a new level of silence entered the room: hushed anticipation. Murtagh himself appeared curious, and when he met her eyes he gave her the minimalist of reassuring nods.

"And now, the moment I am certain many of you have been waiting for." Clapping resounded in her ears and Alea attempted a smile. She did not want to appear ill at ease before the King, but even less so to his court; many of them would love to see her fall, to see her defeated and punished. Being the King's ward gave her, in their eyes, powers she did not deserve. _If only they knew_, she thought grimly. Her eyes caught Lady Camilla's and she quickly looked away. There was something about the beautiful, sweet looking girl that deeply irked her. She'd met her on few, brief occasions, but it could also have something to do with the fact that she'd seen the girl eye Murtagh for too long to be appropriate.

"…The Lady Alea's final Challenge!" Alea stifled a squeal of surprise and attempted to steady her hammering heart, certain she'd be able to hear it, even amid the few whispers. _Final_ Challenge? If this was her last Challenge, than that meant that she either graduated from her training, or that….she did not want to think of the alternative.

The ballroom double doors opened, and a line of twenty or thirty scraggly dressed men all bound at hands and feet where led into the room and lined up in a horizontal line. Whispers again ran the length of the room as the lords and ladies observed the street urchin of the room. Many of the men reminded her of the man she had killed what seemed like a year ago now in the Rusty Axe. Others looked petty thieves and beggars. They certainly didn't look like a Challenge. She could kill them all with her bare hands. Her confidence restored, Alea turned to grin at Galbatorix as she awaited further instructions.

"You men," The King was now addressing the row of chained men. "Have been imprisoned in the jail of Gil'ead for your crimes of theft and murder. But I am a graceful King. I believe in awarding second chances. That is why you are all awarded your freedom." Galbatorix said, and as he spoke, the chains that bound them together disappeared. Alea wondered briefly who was doing the magic. The prisoners looked as though they could not believe their good fortune as they massaged their wrists that had been bound so tightly by the iron cuffs. "That is, of course, if you can make it past the Lady Alea and to drink from my own goblet." He sat back down in his high backed, throne-like chair, setting his goblet on the edge facing her and her Challenge.

"I thought I'd even the odds," he said, and then gestured to the prisoners. A sword appeared in front of each man, causing the corners of Alea's lips to curl up into a smug smirk. So he didn't doubt her abilities… even so, twenty five men, even armed, seemed a little unfair. She was a trained fighter, and faster and more agile and stronger than five men combined. The unfair advantage existed in her blood.

_Entertain me._ Galbatorix spoke in her mind, and Alea turned into a polite, sweet smile as she curtsied before the King in the most ladylike manner possible before she turned to face the scum at the end of the ballroom. As she turned she caught sight of Murtagh, who was frowning and shaking his head. _This will show him, if he doesn't think me capable._ She thought to herself.

_Alea, do you know what it is you are doing?_ Speak of the red devil, Alea thought.

_I could care less about killing these men, Murtagh. I expected more._

_Your arrogance may be your downfall today, _came Murtagh's irritated answer. _Did you not consider that perhaps these men have been, oh, I dunno, enchanted?_ Alea nearly faltered in her tracks. No, she had not considered that. They didn't appear to be more than they were, though she knew better than most that appearances were often misleading.

_What is it to you, Murtagh?_ She asked instead.

_I've known you too long to see you butchered like this. If anyone's going to run you through with a sword, it'll be me._ He said, pulling away with his mind. Alea rolled her eyes and stopped a few meters from the line of men, this time running a more critical eye over them. The men looked uncertain, until one stepped out of the line and towards a sword.

"If all I got to do is kill this here lass ta' win back me freedom, I do it gladly." He said. Galbatorix had not specified her blood needed to be spilled to the men, and this man's attitude told her all she needed to know about him. A gentle brush of her mind to his, and she saw he was worse than her most recent kill.

He was tall, wore a confident smirk, and seemed well fed. He hadn't been in prison long, obviously. He picked up the sword at his feet, tested its weight for a moment, and then charged at her with a wild battle cry. Alea stood her ground as he approached her at a full run, and just as he closed the distance between them and raised the sword and left his chest open, Alea pivoted slightly and then jammed one fist into his chest, snaking her other hand to the back of his neck, forcing the man face first into the ground with. A sickening _crack!-his nose had been broken_.

Cheering broke out from her spectators, and the remaining twenty four men watched her wearily now, assessing her. Alea reached down and took the sword from the man that was slowly losing consciousness from the trauma to his head. With a swift jab of the sword she pierced the man's heart. She pulled it out and cleaned off the blood on the back of his tunic even as the life left his eyes.

"So," she flashed them a smile. "Who is it that will join him next in eternal slumber?" she called out in challenge. Seeming to have come to some sort of a conclusion, the men rushed her at once. It was easy to spot the men who were unskilled with a blade; it was apparent in six or seven of the men that they had never handled a sword before. She made them her targets first. She laughed as a few men attempted to sneak past her, but she was simply too fast for them. Those men were more considered with making a run for the goblet without doing the work, and them she cut down with slashes to the legs.

Within minutes, the ballroom floor was so slick with blood that Alea was having difficulty not slipping or tripping over fallen bodies. The fight had been an unfair one; Alea had trained all her life and possessed skill and traits none of these men could ever hope to have. And even thought the men burned with a certain fire in their eyes—for if they beat her, they could regain their precious freedom—their newfound strength was not enough to evade the bite of her blade as it slashed through their chests and necks with ease. From the corner of her eyes she caught many of the women turning away in disgust at the gore, and Murtagh eyeing the scene before him like a hawk. But Alea didn't care. She was pleased with herself, having only acquired a few shallow cuts on her arms and a blood splattered dress. If anything she felt insulted; did the King truly not believe her good enough for these simple men?

Alea blocked a blow with a sword and kicked a man away simultaneously as a new thought entered her mind. Perhaps the King was testing her to see how she coped in the heat of battle: perhaps this was his test before she would be sent out against the Varden.

She fought with renewed vigor.

There were finally only a handful of prisoners left, the ones who seemed the most skilled out of the lot. Alea thought they must have been soldiers of the Empire, arrested for some reason, perhaps deserters, based on their fighting styles. She'd witnessed enough soldier's training to recognize the signs of it in a man's technique. She had her back to the ballroom door and was exchanging blows with a skilled man nearly her size when a gasp rippled through the crowd, and the man dropped his sword to the ground, eyes wide with fear. A cold sensation gripped her, and Murtagh forced his way into her mind—_Turn around!_ He exclaimed. Alea turned around too late, only to be struck in the chest, and she soared several meters before landing on her back against the cold, hard floor. She coughed, searching for her attacker even as her vision swarmed with tiny black dots for a few moments. A pit formed in her stomach as she laid eyes on a man. His blue black hair fell in a straight curtain to his shoulders, and the eyes set deep in his pale face shown red.

A Shade.

Alea had been unprepared for the change of events. And for the twenty other prisoners who were led into the room and given swords. She edged sideways, and glanced at the High Table. Galbatorix's eyes were impassive, and her uncle seemed furious. She saw him try to stand, but saw that he could not, that some unseen force was holding him down in his seat. She had to do this Challenge alone, unsurprisingly.

"Why do suddenly stop before us, child?" the Shade asked her. When he spoke she could spy his pointed teeth. The hairs on her arms raised: Shades had terrified her, plaguing her nightmares as a child. "Stand and fight me." He ordered, and his lips curled into a horrid smile. It mad Alea's gut twist, and bile rise in her throat. This was no man, this was an abomination. The very idea of Shades made her heart hammer in her chest in fear. The other prisoners behind the Shade seemed to realize that the Shade was on their side, because they resumed their attack on her. The Shade only prowled around her, circling her and observing as she was locked in combat with.

_The more he watches me fight, the easier it will be for him to defeat me._ Alea thought, when without warning the Shade threw himself into the midst of her foes and engaged her. He was faster; impossibly so. His movements were quick and precise as he darted forward, causing Alea to be on the offensive. She could do little more than defend herself against his attacks and those of the men around her. She yelped as her sword was knocked out of her hands by the Shade, and it sailed too far out of her reach for her to recover.

Desperately, she ducked under the lunge of a man's arm and grabbed him by the throat, shoving him at the Shade as a cover as she threw herself at another of the men and wrestled his sword away from him. The Shade appeared above her even as she slit the man's throat, and she rolled away as his thin sword scratched at the ground she'd just laid upon. Pain blossomed in her stomach. She coughed, and a spray of red painted the ground next to her. Her stomach hurt; during the struggle for the sword she'd gotten stabbed. The fabric of her dress stuck to her stomach, and her back was soaked in blood. At least that wasn't her own. She rolled to her feet, even as the Shade began stalking her once more like the predator it was.

_You need a strategy,_ she thought to herself as she kept the prisoners at bay with a few swipes of her new sword. _If only these bastards would die…_She thought angrily as she slit through the throat of yet another man. There were four left. Alea scanned the room and her eyes fell onto the curtains. Thick golden ropes held them away from the windows. She met the red eyes of the Shade, and then made a run for the curtains. The Shade let her, the prisoners did not. She slashed the golden rope away from one of the curtains, and grabbed it with one hand, throwing her sword with the other at one of the prisoners. It struck him in the knee and he fell to the ground, howling in pain.

_Three,_ Alea ducked under the incoming sword of a bearded man, and wrapped the curtain rope around his neck tightly. He dropped his sword as his hands flew to his neck, scratching at her hand to release him. She caught his sword and stabbed it through the neck of another man. Warm blood stained her face. _Two, _she renewed her grip on the rope, dragging the man after her as she sparred with the second remaining man. She winced as he nicked her thigh, and she responded with a sword through his stomach. _One, _she let him fall to the ground with the sword still impaled in his stomach, and turned her attention to the purple faced man still trapped by gold robe in her other hand. She let go of the rope and her gasped, greedily sucking in air as he fell to his knees. Before he could react she placed her hands around his head, and like the man in the Rusty Axe, she broke his neck with a twist.

_None_.

Limbs aching, Alea turned to the Shade, who had a vicious smile on his pointed features. She realized that it was now that the real battle would begin.

She wasn't so sure she could win.

"Impressive…for a child. But you cannot stand to beat us alone, for we are Ugara the Unconquerable." The Shade hissed as he began moving towards her.

"Then I suppose it is fortunate that she isn't alone." Alea's eyes darted passed the Shade to see Murtagh jump over his place at the High Table and unsheath Za'roc, twirling the blade in one hand in anticipation. His features were expressionless as the ruby blade caught the light, ready for blood. But surely he could not interfere with her Challenge like this…the court seemed to wonder the same thing as they began whispering. But Galbatorix simply raised an eyebrow, making no move to stop them. Aelfric appeared relieved.

_Go away Murtagh!_ She screeched, even as she kept her eyes on the Shade. He was grinning, as though Murtagh coming to her defense amused her.

_Excuse me? This Shade will cut you to ribbons!_

_ How am I to prove myself to my father if you intervene? _Alea exclaimed. She was panicking, panicking because she was suddenly doubting her abilities more than she ever had before in her life, panicking because the red gaze of the Shade instilled fear in her heart, and panicking because she was failing her Challenge. Suddenly she wished she had never woken up that morning, that she'd been swallowed up by her nightmares instead.

_You are an ungrateful little girl, you know that, right?_ Murtagh snarled as he came to stand by her.

_And you seem to be more like those knights in the old stories you detest so much. _Alea responded hotly. _I am not some damsel in distress._ This time his casual expression faltered and he shot her a look of loathing.

_You're right. A damsel is much more welcoming and kindly_. The Shade drew attention back to himself as he suddenly sniffed the air, and then his tongue darted out, tasting the air.

"Ah…the blood of Morzan. Ugara is honored," the Shade bowed slightly to Murtagh. "We have served your father in the past." Ugara said, and Murtagh's lip curled in disgust as his lip curled in disgust.

"Let us end this," he said. Alea clenched her jaw unhappily, though she too raised her sword in preparation. She tried to calm herself: surly the King wouldn't allow the Shade to kill her or Murtagh…right? No, Murtagh was indispensable. He was a rider... And she, well if she couldn't conquer this Challenge, perhaps she wasn't as indispensable as she'd previously thought herself to be. She spared the King a glance, and was quickly pushed aside by Murtagh; the Shade had attacked. She yelped in surprise, earning an annoyed look form Murtagh for her distractedness.

In the duel that ensued, there was one thing that Alea could not deny: she and Murtagh didn't fight well together, they fought perfectly. Irritated as she was with him, she took notice of this fact. She was never in his way, and he never in hers. Their minds hardly touched, and they did not speak, and yet she felt as though they were connected. It was as though they knew each other's moves before they enacted them, and Alea knew that this was a result of them knowing each other for so many years and having sparred together often. They knew each other too well.

Ugara's feature's contorted into a snarl as he kept both Rider and Lady at bay with a single sword. Catching her by surprise, he slammed a closed fist into Alea's stomach, causing her to hunch over in pain as he struck her already painful wound. He used her momentary distraction to swoop under Murtagh's reach and grab a sword from one of the fallen prisoners that lay dead on the ballroom floor. Alea and Murtagh expanded their circle around Ugara momentarily, each seeking a weakness in the Shade.

They found none.

Alea glanced at Murtagh for a moment, and then struck at Ugara's thigh without warning. The Shade parried the blow easily with one sword, keeping half his focus on Murtagh who at the same time aimed a blow Ugara's neck. Both blows were parried, but Murtagh managed to throw a booted kick at the Shade's side, eliciting a sickening _crack!_ as a rib broke. Alea caught Murtagh's look of concentration slip into a temporary smirk of satisfaction.

"Stop toying you two," The King called. Alea nearly groaned out loud. If he thought they weren't trying now, she wasn't' sure that the King would be very impressed tonight. Alea was giving her best effort; the Shade was simply too powerful. She was only thankful he hadn't attempted magic.

"Well, in that case the," Murtagh muttered so quietly Alea nearly missed his words. He twirled his sword again, and then charged the Shade with a fierce battle cry.

Alea hated to admit it, but she was impressed. If anything, Murtagh was moving faster, with more agility, and his blows landed stronger against Ugara's blade. She followed after him, determined not to be bested before the entire court, and, more importantly, before Galbatorix.

She wasn't sure how long passed before the moment she had been dreading came. Ugara's blade met hers with a particularly forceful blow, and just as her arm was about to give out, Murtagh plunged Za'roc into Ugara's heart. Or at least, it might have, had the sword no stopped a hair's breath from the Shade's chest. The Shade froze, expression contorted in fury as he realized he had been bested. He retreated a few steps, sword dropping to the ground past his thin fingers. The room was silent, the only sounds Alea's and Murtagh's heavy pants. Finally Galbatorix stood. Every eye on the room was on him, and Alea held her breath. His coal black eyes were impassive, then—

The King slowly began to clap, and after a moment, the court followed with their own claps and cheers. Galbatorix held his hands up, and silence reigned once more.

"Murtagh, Alea, you may retire. Bathe and cleanse your wounds. You have entertained me for the evening." He said. His words stung Alea; he hadn't recognized her victorious in her Challenge, though she couldn't blame him. Murtagh, had he been allowed to, would have killed the Shade. She felt defeated, and she felt as though she would be sick. She bowed stiffly before her King, and Murtagh did the same. He too seemed uncertain of himself. The dismissal was clear, and Alea let the blade in her hand slip through her fingers and sharply spun around. Her skirts moved sluggishly with her, weighed down by blood as they were. She departed the ballroom without a second glance back, aware of the eyes on her. She felt humiliated. Anger simmered through her, nearly clouding her vision.

"Alea!" she heard Murtagh's voice call.

"Do not speak to me," Alea said sharply as she strode towards her chambers. She was suddenly spun around, hands grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the stone wall. The stone felt abnormally cool against her battle. Her fury grew. He was the only one who dared handle her as he did no, who dared lay a hand on her. Even with everything he knew. But Murtagh did not seem angry, rather incredulous.

"Excuse me, princess, but I just saved you in there!" He exclaimed. Her eyes flashed at his mocking nickname.

"Saved me? _Saved me_? I was not aware you had developed a hero complex, Murtagh. Do you honestly believe that He would have let that Shade kill me? If so you are sadly mistaken. Instead, your judgment cost me my honor, my chance to prove myself. So if you will let me be, I would greatly appreciate not having to see you, Morzansson." She spat, wrenching her wrists away from his grip. He stared at her, an unreadable expression on his features, before stepping to the side and allowing her to pass.

* * *

**Bam! So what did you guys think of the Challenge? Did you guys expect the Shade-or Murtagh's surprise involvement? Let me know! Thanks for reading! **


	5. Chapter 4: Marks of Pride

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* * *

**Chapter IV: Marks of Pride**

_**Lady Alea's Chambers, Galbatorix's Castle, Uru'baen**_

* * *

Light, attentive knocks against her chamber door echoed through her room, but Alea ignored them. Her body was sore, her heart heavy in her chest, and her pride and honor slashed through by the ruby blade of the Red Rider. Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, following the archetype of the faded gold leaf pattern in the even more faded violet paint. Light filtered through from the window, and she vaguely wondered who dared knock on her door at such an ungodly hour, so soon after a failed Challenge. They should know it would be safer to poke a sleeping Thorn than attempt to rouse her. The knocking persisted, and she threw her legs over the side of her four-poster bed.

Knocking the life out of whatever idiot servant stood behind the door might make her feel a bit better. It wouldn't hurt to try. At least, it wouldn't hurt her. But when she swung the door open, the sight of Lord Aelfric and Melina surprised her, both with worried expressions they hid horribly behind weak smiles.

"The King wishes to see you," Aelfric said, choosing not to dally on unnecessary pleasantries. Alea's hand tightened on the door handle as panic flooded her, and she felt the bronze knob in her hand crush a little. Still, she attempted to keep herself composed, and gestured for Melina to enter.

"Very well. I will be out shortly. Melina, come ready me."

Without a word, Melina helped Alea into a dress, a violet dress trimmed with gold. When she reached her hair, she began to pull it back to pile it atop her head, but Alea stopped her.

"Let it fall around my face." She said, gazing at herself in the vanity mirror she sat in front of. A scratch from Ugara's sword tip crossed from her cheekbone up to her left eye. She could not heal herself; after a Challenge, each mark on her body was to be worn as a symbol of pride. But this time it was only a tribute to her failure, of the Shade's triumph over her. And of Murtagh's interference.

"No, Milady. You fought well yesterday. I do not know what the King will say but," she licked her lips, taking in a deep breath. "But he would be a fool not to recognize your skill. Few men live against a Shade, no matter how many or how few men they fight alongside. How many women do you know to have survived against a Shade? Even with a man at their side?" she said. Melina's words were bold; to have the King hear her call him a fool could mean her tongue and that of her future children at the very least. But her words managed to bring a smile to Alea's lips, and soothe her just a little.

"Thank you, Melina." Melina smiled warmly, gathering Alea's hair into her hands once more.

"The mark on your cheek is a reminder that you have a chance to improve. That is more than most can ask. You may not have bested him yesterday, but now you have the opportunity to better yourself for tomorrow." Melina said.

"You are wiser than your age presents you, Melina." Alea praised as she considered the servant girl's smile. Melina only smiled sadly.

"Not wise enough, I'm afraid."

Alea was quite certain that the icy glare she shot Murtagh would have been enough to make a lesser man freeze, or at the very least run for the hills. And yet the Red Rider did neither, only serving to fuel her fury against him. She stopped next to him, gathering her skirts and bowing low before the King.

"My King…your Lordship required my presence?" Alea asked as she straightened. She was answered by slow, deliberate clapping, and she chanced a glance up to see that Galbatorix was applauding her. Was he mocking her, to add salt to open wound?

"Alea, I must say that I was rather surprised. Pleasantly so, even. There were few instances in which I had believed that you would fail, and yet you managed to surprise even me. I was most pleased with the outcome of your Challenge." Galbatorix said. A wave of hope rushed through Alea.

"P-Pleased, my Lord?" Alea stammered. "But I failed—"

"You failed to conquer the Shade, yes. I had thought that perhaps you might have been able to at least disarm him, but you were not capable. Your training, in that respect, is incomplete. But I will allow that Ugara has been around for longer than you might think, and his skill with a blade is greater even than Durza.

"However, you did prove to me that you could handle yourself in the heat of battle. You were creative with both sword and in using your surrounding to kill, and that I commend. The use of the curtain ropes was…inspiring." He said. Alea straightened from her curtsey, a glimmer of hope warming her.

"Milord?"

"I have seen your mind, Alea. You wish to be sent into battle against the enemy. But your greatest wish is to be recognized for who you truly are." He continued. Alea's eyes widened. Could it be that…?

"You wish to be sent out into against the Varden, yet you would fail, as has Murtagh. But together, together you two are strong enough to overcome the Varden and Eragon and Saphira. When the time is ready, you two will go and end this war for me. And when you do, you Lady Alea will be recognized for who you truly are." The King said. Alea tried to compose herself best she could, but the thrill of elation was flooding her, fast. She forgot Murtagh standing next to her, she forgot her pain—everything. She only saw him.

"Tonight I will present you to Uru'baen. Tonight all will know that Lady Alea has been deemed ready to take on my enemies. Tonight," he paused, allowing for a triumphant smile. "Tonight all will know that you, Alea, are the living heir of House Galbatorix. Tonight you will be revealed as my blood-daughter." Alea could hardly believe her ears, and she fell to her knees, ignoring the pain in her knees as they impacted the hard stone floor. Her eyes shone with happiness as tears collected in her eyes. She had been waiting, dreaming of this moment for as long as she could remember.

"My King…my father," she paused, taking a moment to relish the way the word rolled off her tongue. "I cannot express my happiness in words. The greatest burden I have ever had to bear was to pretend to have been born of another, to be recognized as simply your ward. I never wanted for anything but one thing: to bare your—our—crest with pride. To be known as your kin, daughter of your blood. To be praised as your daughter—to bring you pride and honor and never disappointment." She said, and he nodded in approval.

"Then rise, Alea, for now I allow you take your true title. Tonight you shall be crowned." Alea rose, fighting to keep her smile from being too wide.

"Murtagh," Galbatorix called, and she stepped to the side, allowing him to take her place before the King.

"It is now your duty more than ever to insure the safety of Princess Alea. You will respect each other in wisdom, because although you may be my daughter, Murtagh has garnered experience that you, Alea, have not. And likewise, Murtagh you must remember that Alea is my daughter. You have known this, for a very long time. But I know that you quite familiar with her. When you are in company, I will not have my Rider slight my daughter. Is that understood?"

"I shall, my Lord," Murtagh agreed with a respectful bow.

"Tonight the people will gather to hear their King, and you will be present, garbed in your finest. Thorn will also be present. You are both dismissed." Galbatorix said. Alea curtsied, Murtagh bowed, and they each left the throne room.

* * *

Alea's bliss nearly made her forget her anger towards Murtagh. She turned to Murtagh primly, who was watching her evenly.

"Still angry with me now?" he asked. She supposed she shouldn't be, not when Murtagh had obviously been the reason she was finally where she wanted to be. But oh, how often the voice of reason is ignored.

"That's Princess, and no longer in the mocking manner you've treated me to in the past," she said instead. He rolled his eyes.

"I only say this because you would not be on your way to slaughtering members of the Varden without me. Although, of course, it was your plan anyway, to ask him." He said. She nodded, and then paused hesitantly.

"I recognize your…help, Murtagh. But I think we are both fortunate that your intervention did not result in punishment for both of us." Alea said. She frowned then, carefully choosing her words.

"Murtagh…I would not have asked him if you did not agree. You are a brilliant swordsmen, and an even better fighter, which is why I know you could have brought Eragon and Saphira to the Varden when you were sent out against them the first time. You returned instead with the blood of a dwarf King on your blade, and I know not why my father—" here a smile escaped her "—was unsurprised. I think you still carry some sort of…some sort of companionship, a form of camaraderie for Eragon. You've never told me about your time away, but it seems to me you were once friends with the Blue Rider." She paused here, looking a little uncertain. She glanced shut doors of the Throne room before meeting his eyes.

"I…I would not have asked the King to be sent out with you against him unless you agreed. You and Thorn both. I don't know what happened those months you were gone. But you came back a different man. I used to think it was Tornac's death, but now I am not so sure. But I would have asked you first. I—" she broke off, shaking her head.

"You and I have history. I wouldn't have taken away your choice in the matter. Believe it to be true or not, but there are things I prize more than glory." She finally said. Murtagh stared at her with an unnervingly piercing stare, making her shift uncomfortably.

"You never fail to surprise me, Alea." He finally said slowly. He seemed to wrestle with something, before finally muttering something under his breath. She thought perhaps it might have been a curse. He offered his arm.

"Princess Alea," he said, "Will you walk with me?" Her eyebrows shot into her hairline in surprise. She eyed him suspiciously; there hadn't been an ounce of mocking in his words, nor in his gestures. He genuinely meant his words. Trying once more not to smile, she nodded, taking his arm. She allowed him to lead her, sneaking glances at his face as she did so. He seemed somewhat resigned, and yet calm. Perhaps even a little tired. Definitely as handsome as ever. She remembered him yesterday, as always more at ease with a sword in his hand. He was, in a deadly way, beautiful to watch in battle. A master at his craft.

"You fought beautifully yesterday." She said before she could catch herself. Her eyes widened and she hastily looked away, even as Murtagh glanced down curiously at her.

"Thank you. So you are no longer angry with me?" he teased. She made a sound akin to a snort even as her cheeks blushed rose.

"I'm always angry with you." She said, and in part her words were not an exaggeration. Whatever her mood, she always harbored anger towards him—she had ever since his abrupt departure for freedom from the Empire. Murtagh laughed.

"That," he said, "Is true. You fought quite well yourself yesterday. I saw you were able to finally perform that parry you always had trouble with—the one with the side-step? I was impressed, though I suppose your arrogance floored me most of all," he said, and she shot him a glare.

"I killed every one of those men. And Shades…I don't like Shades." She said stiffly.

"No one likes Shades. Your father—" again she grinned brightly, causing him to roll his eyes. "—was right when he said that Ugara was superior to Durza. I've fought Durza before, and have seen him fight skilled warriors." He said, and Alea glanced at him in surprise.

"When did you ever fight Durza?" she asked.

"On my holiday from Uru'baen," he said with a shrug.

"You fought—Of course you did. So you encountered a dragon, a rider, and Shade on your travels. And here I sat, thinking you wanted to remain inconspicuous." She said. "Not that your departure was," she added.

"Don't you know? Trouble adores me more than any woman ever will," he said. Alea, unsure as to how to response, realized that Murtagh was leading them further into the castle, and to a door at the end of the hall, to one of the towers.

"The Private Library?" She asked in surprise. "Not the gardens?" she asked. That had been where she had expected him to take her after all. That was were they typically met if either had need, where most everyone met.

"My words are for you and you alone." He said simply, opening the door for her. She nodded slowly, even as the words made her feel warm in her stomach. She'd always liked knowing secrets, and she liked knowing that Murtagh had one just for her. Quietly, they walked up the spiraling staircase. She stopped at the door, whispering the password in the Ancient Language before it. It swung open for her, and Murtagh shut it behind himself.

The Private Library was one of her favorite parts of the castle, and Murtagh's too, she knew. He loved reading—always had—though before he had been a Rider he had not been allowed into the Private Library. And so Alea, always eager to please him and play with him, had brought him with her to the library. He would read, and she would lounge on the plush red window seat, looking down into the courtyard. She could even see past the wall and into the city, and she'd always sit there and wonder what it was like beyond the castle. Then she would grow bored and pester Murtagh to play with her and entertain her. Sometimes, he would read passages to her, and others he would oblige her with a game of hide-and-seek. They had not been in the Private Library together for quite sometime; not since before his departure and longer still.

Alea took to her old perch on the window seat, raising dust. She sneezed, and Murtagh laughed as he leaned against the wall next to her, watching her with a rueful smile.

"I always wanted a brother." He said. His words caught her by surprise, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" she asked as she reached up to pull out the pins from her hair. Melina had pulled her hair back much too tight, and it was bothering her now.

"Yes. I already knew what it was like to have a sister," he said, giving her a pointed look. "You were always my little sister; following me around day and night, always wanting to know what I was doing and wanting to do it yourself. Because of you I was the most anxious child in all of Uru'baen," he said with another laugh.

"Because of me? What could I have possibly done?" she asked in surprise.

"The first time I saw you, I was seven and you five. The entire court had been summoned to the castle gates to welcome the King's new ward. Tornac took me with him. I was practically his own son, anyway, by then. You arrived in one of the finest carriages I'd ever seen, and you poked your head out of the window with the biggest, darkest, most expressive eyes I'd ever seen. Your hair was done up in much the same way it just was now, and you kept pulled at it in annoyance." He smiled a bit at the memory. Alea could feel herself being drawn in by his words, finding herself returning to a different, more simple time. Murtagh's story telling had always had that effect on her; he was marvelous at it, when he wanted to be. She found it funny that such a quiet man could paint such pictures with words.

"When the carriage stopped, you stepped out with three maidens. You were clothed in fine red silk. I tugged on Tornac's sleeve and asked if you were a princess." He said, and Alea listened in surprise. She'd never heard this account from Murtagh's perspective before.

"Tornac said you were not, that you were the daughter of a faithful, powerful spellcaster of the King's. Back then I was fascinated with magic, and I knew instantly I had to befriend you to see if you knew magic. But Tornac quickly warned me that the King had taken you in as his ward, and that you were to be treated as a Lady of the court. And so I took heed of his words. I was glad of it, too. It quickly became apparent that you were a spoiled brat." He said.

_Murtagh was fetching Tornac's breakfast from the kitchens when something very small barreled into him. He fell to the ground, spilling warm milk all over himself and the tiny creature that had run into him, headlong._

_"Oh, look what you've done!" the little girl exclaimed, irritated. Murtagh eyed her curiously, never having encountered her before now. She had arrived almost five months ago, and this was the first time he'd seen her so close. She was flicking droplets of milk from her long raven strands, and Murtagh couldn't help but chuckle. She frowned._

_"It isn't funny," she said. Murtagh had never known a girl so young to be so full of authority—she was definitely a noble's daughter._

_"I'm sorry," he said, trying not to laugh. "But you did come running around that corner awfully fast," he said. She looked up from her stained yellow dress to argue when her hazel eyes widened with curiosity._

_"I know you!" she said brightly, pushing the blunt bangs out from her eyes. "I truly do!" Murtagh shook his head._

_"But I've never met you, er, Milady," he said awkwardly. She rose to her knees, crawled closer to him in a manner that would have shocked any of the matrons had they seen her until her nose was nearly pressed against his and he was cross-eyed. She smiled brightly as she sat back on her haunches._

_"Oh, but I do! You're the boy with scar on his back!" she said excitedly. Murtagh scrambled away from her, quickly picking up the items he had spilled and piling them back onto his tray._

_"What of it?" he asked with as much gruff as a child could muster. She shrugged, not looking very poised at all as she cocked her head to the side and stared at him curiously._

_"I'm only curious. How'd you get it?"_

_"If you don't know how I got it, then how do you know I have a scar?" he asked suspiciously. The little girl looked around the hallway quickly, before leaning again._

_"I can't tell you. It's a secret. I promised the King I wouldn't tell." She said importantly. He rolled his eyes, carefully sitting back down on the ground next to her. This was a less frequented corridor, and he doubted they'd be disturbed any time soon. And Tornac, well the man had never thrown a sword at his back for being late._

_"Magic?" he asked. She giggled._

_"I can't say. Maybe." She winked at him, but could only squint both eyes at him. He laughed, despite himself._

_"Fine, then. Tell me something else." He said. The girl screwed up her nose in concentration before smiling brightly once more._

_"You're my new friend! And you have to be, because I'm the King's ward, and what I say goes."_

"I did not say that!" Alea said, laughing in spite of herself.

"Oh, but you did! You were a little princess even then—a strange one, I'll admit, but a princess at that. But always my little sister. Although," he stopped, laughing.

"What?" Alea asked eagerly.

"Although it is true that Tornac once thought you'd have me marry you. Obviously he didn't know you too well, because he also said he'd approve," he teased. Alea swallowed thickly, trying not to allow her cheeks to turn red.

"T-Tornac said that?" She asked, her foot suddenly tapping against the cushion of the window seat. She felt…pleased.

"Said that was why you followed me around so much. I don't think he understood just how despised you were—are—by the rest of the noble's daughters. Of course, you had it coming, with your attitude," he said. She rolled her eyes, scoffing.

"I was the daughter from a name they'd never before heard, and oh how they laughed at me, as though I were a street rat in a lady's dress. Jealous of my status with the King, believing me undeserving…" she laughed bitterly, eyes burning through the glass of the window and into the courtyard below. "If there is one thing I will relish above all tonight, it will be their faces as I am crowned their princess." Her eyes flicked up to meet Murtagh's.

"Why are we here, Murtagh?" she asked softly. "This talk of the past does little to explain your actions in regards to me now—unless because you feel that as my big brother it was your duty to intervene in my Challenge," she said. Murtagh shook his head, leaning his head back against the wall.

"I will not apologize for interfering. If I'd thought an apology was in order, than that would mean I regretted my actions. I'd do it again." He said. She arched an eyebrow.

"Then what is this about?"

"As I said earlier, I wanted a brother. Growing up in Uru'Baen, I never had many friends. The occasional baker's son or blacksmith's apprentice who could over look my birth, but never for long. Like you, many in the castle resented my presence. I was Morzan's son, but what use was I, the son of a defeated Rider? And so I always craved a brother. To spar with and wrestle with, to tease, to talk to about the pretty kitchen maidens.

"When I left Uru'Baen, I had no idea where to go, but it didn't matter. Any plans I might have had would not have mattered, not with Tornac dead. So I hunted his killers—the Ra'zac." He said, and Alea's eyes widened.

"You hunted the—you know what they're capable of! You were certainly skilled with a blade, but that was all you were—" he held a hand up to cut her off, and her mouth snapped shut, eyes challenging him to argue.

"What would you have done for your father?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter. He can't be killed." She answered swiftly, and he chuckled darkly.

"Aye, and yet to me Tornac was a father, and he was very much mortal. So I did what any good son would have done; I avenged him. At least, I tried. When I caught up with the Ra'zac they were on the trail of a boy and his dragon. Things…happened, and though I was not able to kill the Ra'zac as I had planned, neither could I abandon Eragon. He—" Murtagh broke off, sighing loudly. He pushed himself off from the wall, beginning to pace before her. Alea was confused; she'd never seen him in such a state.

"Eragon cannot be described so easily. I had never before met a man—boy, he was more a boy than a man then—who was more vested in right and wrong. In that respect he was extremely passionate—and often blind. Say you and I were to be fleeing our enemies and came upon a man who wished to capture and sell us as slaves. What would you do?" he asked her. She noted frustration seeped into his tone.

"Break his neck," Alea said easily. "If I had time, death would be slower. There's a reason my father outlawed slavery: it is a cruelty against humanity." Murtagh nodded his agreement, though he did not pause his pacing.

"Exactly! Gods it was what anyone with any sense would do. I decapitated the man, and Eragon threw a fit because he was unarmed and at my mercy." He said. Alea frowned.

"But if he was to die, what change does it make if he had a sword at hand or not?"

"Precisely what I asked of him! But he did not, could not see it that way. But he had a way about him…I felt it necessary to protect him as I would a little brother. Of course, doing so was what ultimately led me being brought back here, and yet…"

"And yet?" she prompted. He finally paused to look at her, and he shrugged.

"And yet sometimes I think it was worth it. Not often, but there are times, when I've drunk too much ale and I'm not in my right mind."

"But, but you are glad to be back, are you not? Leaving, aiding Eragon—you didn't really think it would harm the Empire the way it did, did you? You couldn't have. You wouldn't have done it, otherwise." She said, shaking her head adamantly.

"My reasons for acting were my own. But I didn't have anything here, Alea," he said, her eyes flashed, and her jaw set coldly at his words. Her unspoken words hung in the air between them.

You had me.

"When I returned I had a long talk with your father," he said carefully. "He…made me see the error of my ways." He said a little forcefully. "And he shared with me the truth."

"What truth?"

"The truth of my family. I am not Morzan's only son." He said.

"Who else?" Alea's eyes widened in shock. "No, not possibly—!"

"Eragon is my brother." Her said, and Alea gasped.

"Brother—that's why you could not do what needed to be done. You love your brother." She whispered. His eyes narrowed at the word 'love', but he said nothing. She laughed bitterly.

"Eragon Shadeslayer, your opponent, your blood brother. Fate is cruel, is it not? Then again, it is of no surprise to me. I knew you were leaving that night, and yet I said nothing to my father." She admitted. "He was not pleased." Murtagh wielded around to face her.

"I don't believe you. There is no way you could have known—I told no one, and you could not have pulled the knowledge from my mind. You might have taught me when we were young, but my mind is strong." He said. She laughed again, hollowly.

"There are times I know things I shouldn't. I'm telling you I knew, just as I know that green egg will hatch for me." She said firmly.

"Oh, so woman's intuition?" he snorted. A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips.

"Something even stronger. Now I've said all I can, and I have a question that I must ask: Can you, when the time comes, do what needs to be done? Eragon need not be harmed, especially not Saphira. She will mother her race—perhaps with Thorn as it's father, or even the green hatchling." Alea said. Murtagh considered her for a moment.

"I won't offer him the leniency I have in the past." He said, and she nodded in approval.

"Then you should be glad, Murtagh. Once Eragon is made to see the truth about the mad rebels he has allied himself with, you can stand side by side your brother and watch the dragons' glory restored. Now please excuse me. I have to prepare. In a few hours I will be recognized from mere ward to princess, and I must appear the part." She said, standing from her perch.

"You do, look the part I mean. I left and you were still a girl, and yet the year was good to you. I returned to find you a beautiful woman with the grace of a queen, if not the frigidity of one." He observed. His words were neither compliment nor insult, and yet she did not like them.

"Is Nasuada cold? I suppose it doesn't matter, but I hear she believes herself ranked amongst royalty. At least King Orrin has a House to back his claim. She has none recognizable," Alea said innocently, and yet the change in Murtagh was unmistakable. He froze and his features tightened.

"No, she may not be a royal, but she comports herself as one. She is warm and the most exotic beauty I have ever seen, just as they say." He said stiffly. Alea's eyes tightened, and she offered him a cold smile.

"How lovely. Let's hope her beauty and warmth will be enough to sustain her when she rots in our dungeons. Until tonight, then," she said, offering him a curtsey. Murtagh's eyes were unreadable as he bowed stiffly to her and watched her leave.

* * *

Alea couldn't keep skill. Her entire body was alive with delicious excitement as she eyed her reflection. She'd never looked better, Melina had made certain. She was pleased with her servants work; the girl had braided a section of her hair and then twisted it around her head, collecting the rest of her raven tresses into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, allowing twin, short curls to frame either side of her face. She could already envision her crown resting atop the braid.

She wasn't sure what the girl had done, but she had managed to coat Alea's lashes with a thick black substance that maid them look fuller than ever. Her lips shone like the red blood she had split the day before against the pallor of her skin, and her figure was carefully accentuated by her gold dress. The dress gleamed with her every movement; the neckline and her sleeves were sewn with precious gems. A large amethyst hung around her neck.

"You'll be receiving a much higher wage after today, Melina. You've outdone yourself." She praised, turning away from her reflection. "It will be my first action as princess. You can be sure of it." Melina bowed as low as could, a pleased smile on her pink lips. Somehow, Alea knew that it wasn't because of the promise of a higher wage, but because of the praise. How sweet.

"Thank you, Milady. You know how I enjoy my work," she said.

There was a knock on her door, and Alea could barely contain her squeal of excitement. Just as it had been him in the morning, her uncle was once again at her door. He too wore the colors of House Galbatorix; his tunic was a deep purple, so dark it was nearly black, and he smiled once he saw her.

"Beautiful as ever, Alea. I take it you are as elated as you appear," he greeted. Her grin, if at all possible, grew wider.

"Happiest day of my life, Uncle. If ever a day were to top this one, it would be the day I arrived." She admitted. He opened his mouth to say something, but then shook his head, offering her another smile.

"Good, that is all very well…now come, I will escort you. The city has gathered in the town square, and the city is buzzing with rumors as to why they have all been called to gather. The King has not held such a meeting in over a decade," Lord Aelfric said. Alea beamed.

"Than I suppose that makes today all the more special."  
"I suppose it does."

* * *

Lord Aelfric led Alea to the front of the palace, where already the King and Murtagh were standing. Murtagh was dressed in a wine-red tunic, and her father seemed to radiate in his own golden tunic. The crown upon his head caught the light nearly blindingly so, and Alea began to quake with excited energy.

"My King," Lord Aelfric greeted, bowing. "Rider Murtagh," he added, nodding towards Murtagh. Once the pleasantries were exchanged, Galbatorix looked her over.

"My daughter…you look fitting to your House. The finest woman in the city. Murtagh and I were just now speaking about the Ladies I n the palace. I was surprised to find that none yet had caught his fancy," he said. Alea bit her tongue, praying to the gods above that she would not blush bright red. She didn't quite enjoy her father's sense of humor as much as he seemed to. Still, she attempted to remain composed, even as she maintained her cold demeanor towards the Red Rider.

"That is unfortunate for them, My King. Talk of Murtagh between them has become nearly insufferable to my ears," she said with a polite smile. Galbatorix laughed.

"And you could name these women?" he asked, a twinkle in his dark eyes. Alea offered her most serene smile.

"Quite easily, My King. All of them," she said. Galbatorix' smile grew mischievous.

"And you count yourself amongst them?" Her eyes met Murtagh's and she opened her mouth to answer when she was saved by the arrival of the royal carriage. It was a beautiful carriage; even more luxurious than the one she had arrived in all those years ago. Black lacquer rimmed with gold, it held the violet and gold seal of their house n it's doors, and menacing dragon wings at the top. Lord Aelfric shooed away a page as he came forward to open the doors for them, opening them himself. He helped her into the carriage, and she was followed by Galbatorix and then Lord Aelfric himself. When Murtagh made no move to join then, she frowned.

"Are you walking to the town square, Murtagh?" she asked. He chuckled, locking eyes with Galbatorix. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father give him the minimalist of nods.

"No, Princess, I'm afraid not. My carriage is in the air," he said. His words were punctuated with loud flaps of great wings, and Alea guessed that Thorn was somewhere above them.

"Of course." Was all she said. The carriage doors were shut then, and she locked eyes with her father. She couldn't interpret the look in his eyes, but she was willing to guess that it was pride. Pride and something else, but definitely pride. And for her, that was all that mattered.

* * *

_Lovely day. Can you hear the people rejoice_? Thorn asked. His dry sarcasm wasn't lost on Murtagh, whose lips curled into something of a grim smile.

_Aye. I can practically hear them all quake in their boots, fearfully wondering just what their King wants with them. Opinion of him has been on the rise these past few months, but his calling a meeting has definitely set them on edge. I can't blame them; I'm never optimistic about a meeting with him._

_Then you are realistic_, Thorn said as he dropped down into the place that the Royal Carriage had just previously occupied. He wore his finest saddle for the occasion, and Murtagh offered him feelings of sympathy through their link. He knew how much the red dragon hated it; the black leather and dwarf steel saddle was something of a nuisance to him, though Murtagh had to admit that it made him look even more intimidating, if that was even possible.

"Let's go," Murtagh said out loud with a sigh, tapping the hilt of Zar'roc once. He easily climbed onto his dragon's back, and with a mighty few sweeps of his wings they were airborne. The city shrank quickly below them, even in all it's vastness; the ancient walls and tall buildings grew minuscule as Thorn climbed up high, spiraling once through the air in a vertical stance before roaring and allowing himself to drop. A shout of elation escaped Murtagh as they fell, Thorn's wings pressed tightly against his sides as he reversed his body into a steep dive. Uru'baen grew beneath them at an alarming rate and, at the last possible moment, Thorn unfurled his wings, catching a draft perfectly so that he was soaring low over the city.

With his advanced hearing, Murtagh could hear the gasps and cries beneath them, and he was pleased to find that here, they did not condemn his name or that of Thorn's. He could hear clapping mixed in with the awe of laughing children, and when he looked over the side of the saddle he saw that hundreds of people were all crowding the streets that led to the main square. The wooden platform that stood at the square's head stood tall, and a high backed throne had been placed there, with a slightly less grand one to it's left. The people nearest had been very clearly sectioned off from the rest of the city; and they were quite clearly the city's finest, the noble lords and ladies.

Thorn spotted a place to land that had been quite clearly set aside for them, and the people closest squealed in surprise as the dragon alighted so close to them. The square was alive with the buzz of gossip and chatter and nervous excitement, until the Royal Carriage was spotted, being led in by a delegation of soldiers on fine white horses. The hushed silence was almost eerie as every eye followed the carriage until it stopped before the wooden platform. Over the sea of heads Murtagh spotted Lord Aelfric helping Alea out of the carriage and up to the platform, where she stood before the high chair next to the throne. Galbatorix joined her, standing in the center of the platform, black eyes scanning the crowd. Murtagh felt people shiver beneath the stare; it was the kind of stare that seemed to penetrate through them all individually, even with the thousands that had gathered. It was unnerving. Murtagh himself felt the King meet his eyes.

Galbatorix held his hands out wide, as though to embrace them all.

"My people. Today you have all been gathered to bare witness to my pride and joy, and to what will soon be yours as well. Today you will all witness that there is beauty in our empire, and strength, too. That no rebel force will stop us from continuing our lives," he said. And just like that, some of the tension of the crowd seemed to melt away as his words snaked through the ears of the many. He seemed to need no magic to amplify his voice, and yet he was not shouting; Murtagh could have sworn the man was directly in front of him, and not across the square form him.

_What a silver-tongue_, he thought to Thorn. Thorn let out the barest puffs of smoke.

"You all know my ward, the Lady Alea," he said, gesturing back to her. She stepped forward, a serene smile on her features. But Murtagh knew her well enough to see the wide smile, the victorious smirk she was suppressing. This was, after all, the moment she'd always wanted. He wondered vaguely what it was like to get what one had always wanted and not have it backfire.

"The Lady Alea came to Uru'baen as a young child, and has brought warmth to my heart since then, though the circumstances for her arrival were grim. Her mother, a beautiful and talented spellcaster of Furnost, was murdered by the dreaded Varden, taking a mother away from her child. Since that day I have been unable to forgive myself. I thought I had taken every necessary precaution to keep her safe, but alas I failed. The truth is that she was my wife, though but a few trusted knew." He paused, allowing shock to ripple through the crowd. They'd had a Queen, and not known? And the Varden had taken her away from them?

"Yes, for a King to mislead his people is cruel, but I wished only to protect what little family I had left." Again, he paused, and Murtagh nearly laughed out loud in disbelief.

_Do you see how he presents himself_? The people are falling for his false pity as he paints the Varden murderous, as though he is a victim! Murtagh said.

It is harder to condemn a king with a heart of gold than one who lacks the organ entirely, Thorn agreed.

"Lady Alea is my daughter, and she has proven to me ready to carry the mantle and burden that comes with the title. From this day forth she will be hailed as Princess Alea of House Galbatorix of the Empire," Galbatorix said. He stepped to the side, gesturing for her to take his place. Alea searched the crowd once before speaking, dark eyes bright.

"Long have I awaited this day, the day that I could openly cherish my love for my father and King. For too long have I lived in fear of the Varden, fearing my life as my mother lost hers. But I am ready to take on the mantle.

"I ask for no love that I do not deserve, and I ask for no blood that I will not spill myself. I ask only for the gods to keep me strong so that I may serve our Lord King, and in turn, our glorious Empire. We will not live in fear of would-be Kings and Queens, of mountain men and pointed-eared tree spirits. They have tainted the minds of the people of the south, but we will remain strong. Those who will bear the Empire's crest we will accept with open arms, and those who wish us harm we will unite against. I am vassal to our King, just as I am vassal to your needs," she said. Her voice rang loud and clear across the square, and it was difficult not be drawn into her own words and the vision she painted. The passion in her voice was obvious, and the public's mood clear: they seemed rallied, directed by the words of the two royals before them into feeling as though they were a part of something great, together, as though on some ground they were all equal, and that they shared a common enemy: The Varden. And the people were cheering, as though they did not mind being hoodwinked for the past twenty years in regards to their King's marital status or that fact that he had a child they knew only as a ward, that suddenly they had another royal that demanded their allegiance.

_Like father, like daughter_, said Thorn.

_So it would seem. Of course, this has me wonder: was this truly the King's way of introducing Alea as Princess, or was it a means of renewing hatred for the Varden?_

_Give them a common enemy and the people will remain united. Take it away, and they will focus on other things, such as the inequality and quality of their own empire._ Thorn said. Murtagh hummed in agreement.

_It would seem it is our turn to play our part in this charade,_ He said as he caught the King's eye. Stepping directly in front of Thorn, Murtagh led the way towards the platform. The crowd of people parted easily for them as once more the square shushed, pressing far away from him on either side to give Thorn a wide berth. Murtagh stopped before Alea, meeting her dark eyes. Yes, she was certainly happy, he could see that, even as she kept her regal composure. He sank to a knee in front of her, pulling Zar'roc from its sheath and presenting the blade to her hilt first.

"My sword, my allegiance," he said, just as he'd been instructed. "On my word as a Rider," It had not been lost on him that when Galbatorix had told him to promise his allegiance to Alea, it had to be speak the words in common tongue, and not in the Ancient Language. Alea took the sword, and Murtagh knew that had she not been who she was, its weight would have caused her to falter. But her arm hardly quivered and, silently, she touched the flat of the blade to either of his shoulders and finally to his head.

"Rise, Rider of the Empire," she said. He did as told, accepting his sword back from her. He stepped aside, and Thorn snaked his head forward. If he spoke words to her, her did not allow Murtagh to hear them. He touched the tip of his ruby snout to her forehead, and he saw her shiver. Unexpectedly, Thorn reared back, open maw aimed at the sky, and expelled an impressive yet of flame.

The people broke out into cheer, and a very clear chant broke through the crowd as the people fell to their knees.

"All hail Princess Alea! All hail Princess Alea!" Murtagh's eyes rose to Alea, who, true to her words, had a triumphant gleam of victor shining in her eyes. But those who did not know her as well as he saw only pure happiness and love for her people. His eyes landed on Galbatorix next. There was no missing the triumph there.

He knew not what this would mean for any of their futures, but he knew he was witnessing a moment that would be crucial to their histories. Funny how, coincidentally, Alea's grand day had shifted public opinion in his favor. Murtagh felt as though he was slowly gathering tiny pieces to a puzzle of the world that only Galbatorix could see the final picture of.

The question was: was it a word ablaze or a world enriched?

* * *

**I can't believe that it's been an entire month since I last updated! Funny how Uni can get in the way. ;) To make up, here's a nearly 8,000 word chapter. So sorry if you received ten-billion notices about this chapter being updated, but I've had to repost it a lot because it kept showing up as a wall of text! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and if you did or didn't leave me a review of what you thought!**


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